by Becca Fox
Aunt Dinah didn’t have to wrestle me into the chair lift. I just sat there, thinking. More like plotting. I’d find out tomorrow. I’d lay it all out on the table and see what he did.
Chapter 22
Charles
“This isn’t a good idea,” I said. Again.
Jasmine ignored me, pressing her hands against the glass and gazing up at Great Aunt Dinah’s estate. “It’s even more beautiful than I imagined.” Without taking her eyes off of the house, she opened the car door and stepped out.
Uncle Vic and I followed.
Thankfully, it had stopped raining on the drive over here. The plants in Dinah’s yard were still wet, having a light gleam and a fresh earthy smell. Water still dripped along the rain gutters, down pipes, and into the grass. I glanced around, making sure no one was witnessing my sister’s first home visit. This neighborhood felt secluded. Quiet. Still. I could almost believe we were out of the city if it weren’t for the skyscrapers I could practically feel looming behind me, and the distant sounds of traffic.
Jasmine walked carefully across the lawn. The look on her face was one full of awe. It made me feel a little better about this whole thing.
Please, don’t let there be any deaths today, I prayed to who knew what. Just let her have a nice, normal visit.
Uncle Victor and I caught up to Jasmine at the front door. She read the welcome mat and obediently wiped her bright yellow rain boots against the coarse material.
“Anything happens, you call me right away,” Uncle Vic said as he rang the doorbell.
I bit my tongue against my sarcastic retort. He knew that we knew. He was just nervous.
“Nothing’s going to happen.” Jasmine rocked forward onto the balls of her feet, fisted hands bouncing against her thighs in anticipation. “I have a good feeling about today.”
Uncle Victor’s apprehensive look vanished when Dinah opened the door. Pulling his shoulders back, my uncle managed a halfway-genuine smile. “Good afternoon, Ms. Hagan.”
“Detective Campbell,” she said in her usual stiff manner.
“May I introduce my niece, Jasmine?” He gestured to my sister.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am. Thank you so much for letting me visit your lovely home.”
I grabbed a handful of the back of her jacket when I thought she might curtsy.
Dinah smiled. It was small and a little strained, but it was definitely a smile. I knew it was rude but I couldn’t help staring. People said smiling took away years from someone’s face. I never gave it much thought until now.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jasmine. Won’t you come in?” The older woman stepped back to allow us access.
Esmer was limping down the last few stairs and looked up as we entered the house. She wore a very short, dark green sweater dress. I stared at her milky-white legs. My heart might’ve seized up a bit. I forced myself to look up at her face. She was wearing the earring I made for her. It looked good.
She looked good. Really good.
Jasmine aimed a sly smile my way. I rubbed the back of my neck, pretending to be more interested in the rest of the room.
“Esmeralda,” Dinah snapped. Then, with a quick glance at us, she softened her tone. “How many times have I told you to take the chair lift? Your knee won’t heal if you continue to push yourself.”
“It’s a’ight. I’ve got a system.” With tremendous care, Esmer lowered herself down onto the hardwood. Then she grinned. “See?”
“Nevertheless, I’d feel better if you used the chair lift from now on,” Dinah said, waving her over. “Come introduce yourself.”
Jasmine met her halfway, throwing her arms around Esmer’s shoulders as if they’d known each other all their lives. “No need for introductions. You’re all Charlie talks about. We’re practically friends already.”
I tugged at my collar, uncomfortably warm and pissed at my sister. I expected a raised eyebrow or a smirk from Esmer and was pleasantly surprised when I received neither.
“That’s funny. I was about to say the same about you,” she said with a laugh. “Sorry I can’t hug you back.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” Jasmine stepped back, beaming. “Glad to see you’re on the mend. Won’t you show me around?”
“Sure.” Esmer and Jasmine loped away. My sister tugged off her raincoat and draped it over her arm, already asking questions.
I glanced from Esmer to Dinah. What was with them? Why were they being so nice? It was weird.
I didn’t have too much time to dwell on how surreal this felt. As soon as Esmer turned her back to me, I was greeted with more pale skin. The back of her dress swooped down in a loose V. Her shoulder blades shifted as she limped along on her crutches, making a fiery red tattoo slide in and out of view. From the way it curved out from her spine, I assumed it was a bird’s wing. But curiosity made something inside my gut tighten. The urge to tug the material aside and see the rest of her tattoo had me shoving my hands in my pockets.
“Any word on the sentencing for those hooligans who attacked my niece?” Dinah asked.
Uncle Victor nodded. “Esmer should be summoned very soon to wrap up the trial. A buddy of mine who works for the court believes everyone will rule in her favor and sentence the assailants to prison time.”
“Good,” the old woman said with a huff.
I barely registered the conversation. I was trying very hard not to salivate.
Esmer glanced over her shoulder at me. “Coming, Charlie boy?” The question was light enough but there was nothing innocent about the look she was giving me.
I swallowed hard. Jesus. She was doing this on purpose, wasn’t she?
“See you later,” I murmured to my uncle.
“I’ll be back by dinner time,” Uncle Vic told Dinah as I walked away. “Thanks again for letting her visit.”
My joints were stiff, like I’d been cramped into an awkward position for too long. I forced one foot in front of the other, keeping a neutral expression despite my pinging thoughts. Maybe she wasn’t messing with me. Maybe it was just my effing lack of experience. Maybe I was getting worked up over nothing. Esmer was my friend. My only friend. I wasn’t going to ruin that by reading into everything she did.
Resolve renewed, I focused on my sister. Jasmine walked around the long dining table, smiled up at the wallpaper, ran a finger over the place settings, leaned in close to see the china pieces in the ancient wooden hutch. We might as well have been in a museum by the way she peppered Esmer with questions. She listened to each answer with rapt attention, even when Esmer didn’t have a real answer. I was tempted to be embarrassed by her enthusiasm but I knew how much this meant to her.
I think Esmer understood because she humored Jasmine all throughout the tour. She didn’t bat an eyelash when Jasmine walked into the giant wardrobe in one of the guest rooms and shut the door; or rambled on about spirits while tiptoeing through the attic; or started singing Be Our Guest while we walked through the library; or marveled at Esmer’s vast collection of makeup products like they were priceless treasure pieces.
“Can you teach me how to use this stuff?” Jasmine asked, unscrewing the cap of a tube of black lipstick.
I plucked it from her fingers and set it down over Esmer’s dresser. “Maybe some other time.”
“And with a different color,” Esmer added with a chuckle. “Like blue or pink?”
Jasmine clapped her hands together, her mouth falling open in a big oval. “Oh, pink sounds lovely!”
Pink sounded God-awful, but I didn’t say so out loud.
Dinah stayed out of sight until she called us downstairs for lunch. We walked into the dining room to see the table set up with the fancy china from the hutch, a scene straight out of a Jane Austen novel. Tiny silver forks and spoons sat by each plate. The cups all had saucers. There was even a small vase with some flowers at the center of the table. Jasmine gushed about the elegance of the spread. Behind her back, Esmer and I shared a wrinkled nose. We were having hot tea,
finger sandwiches, sliced fruit, cheese squares and oatmeal raisin cookies for lunch. Dinah practiced more of her smiling for my sister, managing to look almost pleased with the compliments.
“You didn’t have to go out of your way for me,” Jasmine said, falling into the chair right next to Dinah’s. “You’re so kind.”
“Not at all, child,” the old woman murmured. Then she poured the tea.
“Your home is gorgeous. Esmer tells me this is your family’s house. Does that mean you grew up here?”
Dinah nodded, keeping her smile in place.
Jasmine popped a square of cheese into her mouth and kept talking as she chewed. “Do you have siblings or are you an only child?”
Esmer added some grapes and half a sandwich to her plate, but she kept throwing curious glances at her great aunt. I got the feeling she was as curious as Jasmine was, but was hiding it for her own safety. When Dinah’s face tightened, reverting her to the grumpy old lady I was more familiar with, I opened my mouth to tell Jasmine to shut it. But then—
“There were five of us but now only three remain, including myself.”
Jasmine swallowed, having the decency to look contrite. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
The old woman’s face was just as sharp but her tone softened when she said, “Death comes for us all in the end.”
My sister’s gaze drifted toward the window over Esmer’s shoulder, to the rain and the world beyond. It was a hollow look, a sad and tired and resigned sort of look. “Too true.” Then she smiled. “Could you pass the honey, Esmer?”
The tea tasted bitter and gross no matter how much honey I added to it. I forced myself to take a gulp between bites of turkey sandwich and pieces of strawberry. I saw my barely contained disgust mirrored on Esmer’s face. Jasmine kept twittering about how wonderful it all was, that this was the most refined and beautiful lunch she’d ever had. I thought she was laying it on a little thick and shot her a look that I hoped would get her to take the compliments down a notch. But then Dinah started smiling again, so I let it go.
Jasmine volunteered to help clear the table once we were done eating. Dinah waved away the offer before I could second it, thankfully.
“Not to worry, child. I can handle this. Why don’t you three play a board game in the sitting room?”
Before Esmer came along, I doubted Dinah had had any children in her house, so why would she have board games? Unless…Esmer was just as surprised as I was when she spotted the boxes stacked neatly on the coffee table. Still wrapped in plastic.
“Wow,” she said, “the old bat went all out.”
“Your aunt is the nicest lady!” Jasmine squealed, prancing over to peruse our options.
Esmer and I shared raised eyebrows. She was the most confusing lady.
Jasmine took the Settlers of Catan board game in both hands and read the back. Then, still reading, she raised her voice to say, “Ms. Hagan, won’t you join us? It says four to six players.”
“Thank you, child, but it’s quite all right. This will take some time. I don’t want you waiting on me,” came the reply from the dining room.
Jasmine pushed out her bottom lip and scrunched her brow for half a second before she plopped down over the plastic-covered couch to begin unwrapping the board game.
“I guess it’s decided,” I murmured. “Hope you wanted to play, Esmer.”
She shrugged. “Why not?”
It was such an ordinary afternoon. I couldn’t completely relax because I kept anticipating a vision, a death to shatter the illusion of normalcy and force us to hurry on home. I envied my sister’s ability to be in the moment. She stared intently at her cards and moved her pieces strategically. Esmer asked light getting-to-know-you questions, pulled off reckless and unpredictable moves, made my sister laugh. Occasionally poked fun at me. Gave me what I could’ve sworn were bedroom eyes once or twice. I kept my cards close to my chest, literally and metaphorically, keeping my answers short, my face blank. Fighting the temptation to pull her aside and ask her outright what the hell she thought she was doing.
Was she testing me, seeing if I’d pick up the vibe she was throwing out and flirt back?
I wouldn’t know how to do that even if I wanted to. I’d become good at people-watching, but I’d always looked away when I caught two people flirting. It was just too awkward and weird. I didn’t take notes on smooth and subtle ways to let someone know I was interested.
With Penny…Well, things had been very different with Penny. For one thing, it had been her ballsy, loud-mouthed friend Hillary who had approached me during lunch to inform me that Penny thought I was cute. She’d continued to pester Penny until Penny came over to me several days later to ask if I wanted to sit at her table. With her and her friends. And God knows what possessed me to say ‘yes.’ I guess it was because Penny had been pretty cute herself, not to mention genuine. Innocent. Kind. Her friends had turned out to be kind too. It was easy to hang out with them, easy to let my guard down.
Weeks later, at a typical high school party, Hillary pushed Penny into me and we bumbled our way into a kiss. There had been the pressure of her hands against my shoulders, softness and warmth over my lips, a strange little shock running down my spine, and then it had been over. I hadn’t exactly participated.
Penny ran from the room crying. I cussed out Hillary and chased after Penny. When I found her, she was more composed but still humiliated. She barely looked at me. I apologized, although I wasn’t sure why. I just wanted to make everything better, I guess. Then, all of a sudden—
“Do you like me, Charlie?”
“Um. Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
And the rest was, as they say, history.
But that was high school. That was child’s play. This was a whole new game with a completely different girl. Too bad I was the same dumbass on the inside.
“It’s your turn, Charlie boy.”
I looked up from my cards, which I realized I’d been staring holes through for the past few minutes.
Cocking her head to the side, Esmer smiled almost mischievously. “Ball’s in your court.”
I glanced at her lips. They shimmered. Was she wearing gloss? When had she put that on? What would it taste like? I swallowed. My throat was painfully dry. Was it warmer in the room too?
I slapped my cards down over the coffee table and stood, muttering something about the bathroom. Instead, I walked to the back door, opened it and stepped out. The cold air was refreshing. I closed my eyes and just breathed it in. I felt the chill in my lungs. Focusing on the simple act of bringing oxygen in and blowing carbon dioxide out, I managed to slow my thoughts. And get my heart out of my esophagus. Still, the questions remained.
What was I going to do? More importantly: what did I want to do and could I do it without messing everything up?
June 29th, 1960
Ever since we ran from our brethren’s presence, I have been thinking. Thinking about why we run. Why not stay? Why not seek out? It is fear that I’m not strong enough to fight off my brothers and sisters. It’s fear of losing Dymeka. I could not survive without him. I have known this since we married.
That was simply our culture. The men hunted and provided for our tribe. Unmarried women, who were not physically strong enough to join the hunt, lived with their fathers or brothers. But if there was not enough food, those without partners could not eat. There were many times I did not eat when I was a teenager. On many occasions, I could only eat what I foraged for myself. But after Dymeka married me, he gave me more than I could ever have asked for. He fed me more times a day than he fed himself. I, in turn, would always build him a shelter farther away from our tribe so we could enjoy every solitary moment together, every moment he was not away hunting or any moment we were not with our friends. Unfortunately, I couldn’t give him the one thing other wives could: children.
Of course, thanks to modern medicine, doctors say, it could have easily been Dymeka who could not have children, but I cannot shake the t
hought ingrained in me by my culture. I still think of myself as barren.
But I digress. I fear losing Dymeka, not because I cannot provide for myself, but because I could not survive without his love and support. His kind words. His unwavering loyalty. His never-ending love. His dedication to us as a couple.
But I don’t want to run forever.
I want to seek out.
I think, instead of running from my brethren’s presence, we should attempt to seek out Death again. I know, much like the last time we sought answers, it could very well lead to nothing. But perhaps if we seek out those who will die soon, we might catch a stronger sense of Death. Maybe she will reveal herself more to us if we find her while she claims the souls of the dying. I don’t know how to tell Dymeka. I hope he agrees to my strange request. After all, we spent years with holy men. I do not know if he will be willing to be among the dying.
Chapter 23
Esmeralda
“You should go talk to him.”
I listed my head to the side. “What?”
Jasmine selected a card from her hand and tucked it in the opposite end of her fan. Then she gave me a thin smile. “If I know my brother, and I do, he’s probably outside hyperventilating and over-thinking your entire relationship right now.”
Wow. I must’ve been more transparent than I thought.
“I overdid it.” It wasn’t really a question.
“Just a bit.” Jasmine crossed her legs before leaning her elbow against her knees. She fanned her cards off to the side as she glanced in the direction her brother had gone. “It’s been too long since he’s had a friend. He’s not going to want to do anything that might make you walk away, despite how he feels about you. You’re the only girl who’s expressed an interest in him in years. It has to be a little overwhelming, not to mention intimidating.”