Wanderlove

by Malory, Belle

  “I’m going to lift you now!”

  His strong arms enveloped me and I felt him lift me to his chest. Warmth. . .it was truly satisfying just being surrounded by his warmth. Curiously, I wondered if the beautiful angel was taking me to heaven. It didn’t seem possible I would be sent there. Unless he was a dark angel, transferring me to hell. Now that I could believe.

  “Is she okay?”

  More voices flooded in to my foggy world. They became a little clearer, one by one, each of them distinctly male.

  “She has never had a strong tolerance for pain,” one of them noted loudly.

  I heard a car door shut. The constant droplets of rain no longer needled me along my face and arms. I sensed we had moved into some sort of vehicle. When did that happen?

  “I felt a small lump on her head and a cut by her temple.”

  “She must have fallen from the ledge by the road. Damned long fall, if you ask me. You sure there is no other damage?”

  I could feel the pressure of the angel’s hands carefully checking my arms, my legs, and then rotating my wrists and feet. I could hardly understand why angels would check for broken bones. I guess I must not be dead, after all.

  “Just a few scrapes and bruises.” Then I heard a sigh, sounding strangely like relief. “Nothing serious.”

  The voices carried on, though I drifted off. I was exhausted. And whoever these strange men were, it seemed they didn’t mean me any harm.

  TWO

  Pink flowered curtains. Lavender scented pillows and sheets. An antique bookshelf filled with a collection of Jane Austen and several cook books. I blinked a few times, trying to piece together my surroundings. I didn’t freak out like some people would have. I suppose I was used to it by now, constantly waking up in different places.

  As I absorbed the traces of familiarity in this bedroom, I quickly realized that I was in my grandmother’s house. This room hadn’t changed since I’d last been in it. But. . .how did I get here?

  Slowly, I began to sit up. An intense pain in the back of my skull began to throb. I immediately leaned back against my pillow.

  Whoa. I knew that type of pain wasn’t an average headache.

  Carefully, I ran my fingers over the back of my head, searching for the source. Sure enough, I felt a small lump bulging from my scalp. I fingered the wounded area, feeling threadwork running along the cut. Someone had stitched my head back together. I was grateful not to have been conscious for that.

  I wasn’t sure what had caused the wound. Things were not entirely clear. I knew I had been trying to get here- to my grandmother’s house. I was on my way. . .but never made it. Something awful happened, delaying me.

  Oh yes, it had something to do with the water in the road. The image of a flooded highway appeared in my foggy mind, a giant tree sprawled across the way. I remembered leaving my car behind. . .

  But how did I get hurt? I pressed my mind for answers, trying to sort things out piece by piece. I could remember everything up until the time I decided to walk. But afterwards. . .I had no idea.

  The doorknob slowly twisted, catching my attention. It creaked open and my grandmother stepped inside the room.

  “You’re awake,” she said, beaming. “How do you feel?”

  The sight of my grandmother was so achingly nice. Everything about her put my body at ease, even the sound of her voice. It meant I didn’t have to run anymore. It meant I was safe.

  “Like a train wreck.” My own voice surprised me. It was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. I wondered how long I had been asleep. Judging from the soft amber hues of the sunlight streaming in through the nearby window, I assumed it was nearly evening.

  “Here, take this.” She handed me a glass of water and some aspirin. I gratefully obliged. My throat felt so dry, like I hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks.

  After downing the entire glass, I glanced back towards my grandmother. She had placed her wrinkled hand over my forehead, checking my temperature. Oddly enough, her hand was the only part of her body that was wrinkled. She still looked as beautiful as I remembered.

  “Either you haven’t aged one day since I last saw you or you’ve made friends with your plastic surgeon.”

  She made a noise, sort of like a humph. “I haven’t had any surgeries, little girl. This is all natural.”

  I raised a skeptical brow. I highly doubted she was telling me the complete truth.

  “Unless you count a few Botox injections.”

  I smiled. Miriam West was the epitome of perfection at all times. I never once caught her with a hair out of place, which, I noticed should have been peppered with gray by now. Instead she had locks the color of glossy mahogany. That was Miriam though, the woman who refused to age.

  She pushed her lenses closer to her eyes to better observe me. Her eyes were still clear, with the same warm shade of brown I remembered.

  “Well, you look like you did quite a bit of growing up since the last time I saw you. Apparently you’re not a little girl anymore. How old are you now? Fifteen?”

  “Seventeen,” I answered her promptly. “You already know that.”

  She chuckled. “I see you have turned into a little lady. You’ve become quite stunning, my dear. Even for the train wreck you claim you are.”

  Miriam always knew how to cheer people with flattery.

  “Thanks, Grams.”

  Then, with a note of seriousness in her voice, she took my hand and asked, “So what happened, Lola?”

  What happened? The question seemed so simple. I shook my head. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t get it out. And if I said it out loud, it became true. If I acknowledged it, it meant it was real.

  I didn’t want to be the daughter who betrayed her father. I didn’t want to tell Miriam I was a person who could do that.

  “Can I stay with you for a while?” was all I could manage to say.

  “Of course.” Her answer was without hesitation. The tears I had been harboring for the past few weeks began to water in my eyes. It was a bizarre sort of thing. I rarely ever cried.

  “I really appreciate it.”

  “Child, don’t thank me for something you never had to ask me for in the first place. My home is your home. You should know that by now.”

  In truth, this house was the only real home I’d ever known, even though my father would hate to hear me admit it. “Your home is the world, Lola,” he told me on a regular basis. That was our firm belief. We didn’t live like Miriam did. We didn’t conform to the norm.

  “You’re going to have to tell me eventually, you know. I suspect it won’t be long before I hear from your father.”

  I nodded. I owed it to her to explain everything. As much as I didn’t want my grandmother, or anyone for that matter, to know what I had done.

  “I just need a few moments to pull myself together,” I admitted uncomfortably.

  “You can tell me over dinner.”

  “I will,” I promised. “Hey, how did I end up here, anyway?”

  Miriam shifted, looking away from me. “My neighbors found you.” She didn’t offer any further explanation, almost like she didn’t want to explain.

  But then I remembered- the angel! The night was coming back to me now. I shook my head at the revelation. I’d thought the angel was merely a projection in some strange dream. A figment of my imagination. “So someone that beautiful really does exist.”

  “Pardon?”

  Too late, I realized I was voicing my thoughts aloud. “Oh, nothing,” I said. “How did they find me?”

  “You mean how did they find you in the tropical storm you were insane enough to venture into on foot?”

  My face began to heat with embarrassment. I suppose I hadn’t put much thought into my actions during my momentary lapse of sanity.

  She shook her head, clearly in disapproval.

  “Get dressed, little girl. There are some clothes in the wardrobe. All we could find on you was your handbag. I put it in the drawer of the nig
htstand.”

  “I left everything,” I said. “Except for a little cash and a few necessities.”

  She nodded. “I’ll take you into town when you’re feeling better. I don’t think you have a concussion, but we should go to the hospital, just in case. I cleaned and stitched that gash on your scalp, but Lord knows I’m not that great with a needle.”

  “No,” I asserted with great emphasis. “No hospitals.”

  Miriam clicked her tongue. “What is it with gypsies and hospitals?” she scoffed, leaving the room.

  After she was gone, I attempted to sit up again. The pain hadn’t dulled, but this time I was prepared for it. I suffered through the throbs, thinking maybe I even deserved them.

  Upon hearing the news of the storm, I thought it was a great opportunity. I’d been planning to run away for a while and figured this was fate giving me the chance. I thanked my lucky stars, feeling as if the universe had aligned itself perfectly, just to create my avenue of escape. But the sense of luckiness I felt earlier seemed to be drifting away. A nagging sense of guilt was left in its wake.

  My father had probably decided he hated me by now. . .I bet he also decided to disown me.

  I shook the thoughts away from me, cringing. No need to dwell on it. Carefully, I stepped out onto the cool tiles of the floor. Miriam’s entire house was tiled. She insisted tiles were the best defense against the southern heat. Ironically, a bead of sweat ran down the length of my face. The fan was on full blast, but it was still dreadfully hot. I recalled that Miriam rarely used the air conditioner. Honestly, someone should point out to her that air conditioners were actually the best defense against heat.

  I moved towards the wardrobe, slowly but surely and checked it to see if there were any clothes that would fit. I brought about five hundred dollars with me, saving it for this very purpose. Once I decided to abandon my troupe, I knew I would need to leave my belongings behind. Not that I had ever had that much to begin with. Those I’d been raised around were not the type of people to acquire many things.

  Surprisingly enough, most of the clothes I found in the wardrobe were mine. But unfortunately, everything I found was from my childhood.

  About seven years too small, I thought ruefully.

  I looked over all my old clothes, lightly touching the fabrics and reminiscing. I used to love visiting my grandparents’ house as a child. It was a shame my father decided to travel so far from the states in recent years.

  I wondered why Miriam had stored these clothes for so long. There was nothing that would fit me now, of course. It seemed strange that she never threw them out.

  I looked down at myself to view what I was currently wearing. It was a silky kimono-like robe. Cherry red with white and pink flowers. Stylish, I mused. Apparently Miriam had good taste in robes. Sighing, I slipped on a pair of house slippers. It was only dinner with Miriam. Who did I really need to impress? All I needed was a hot shower and I could eat dinner in my towel for all I cared.

  With that decision firmly made, I found my way to the bathroom. I tried to shower quickly, but the ache in my head continued to be a nuisance, slowing me down. I could only make very small movements without feeling a sudden stabbing sensation.

  Beyond the physical pain, I desperately tried to keep the recent events out of my mind. But now that I was alone and at the end of my journey, the last memories I had of my father and my troupe seemed determined to haunt me no matter what I did.

  I couldn’t help the tears.

  As last night’s memories became clearer, they flowed freely down my cheeks. It was strange. I could usually keep myself from getting so emotional. I couldn’t understand why it was proving so hard this time. I slowly slid down the tiles in the shower, crouching by the drain…I cried and cried as it came back to me… but since I was apparently losing it, I was at least thankful to be able to cope in private.

  I wished I could force the memories out of my mind. I wasn’t sure if I felt guilty or responsible. I didn’t know why it bothered me so much at this point. . .I’d known for a while that it would all come to this. My Auntie Zetta had come to me with her visions of my father behind bars weeks ago. I hadn’t known what she was talking about at the time. Her vision appeared long before I had even begun to plan my escape. But I remembered it as if it were yesterday. . .Zetta roused me from my bed in the middle of the night. She pulled me up forcefully, shaking me awake. Her expression was grim. Something was wrong. Lines of worry were etched into her face.

  Confused, I let my elderly aunt guide me to the bathroom, where she proceeded to turn the showerhead on full blast. She spoke so softly I could barely make out what she was saying.

  She told me not to feel guilty, and that it was time for me to leave. She told me my father would find a way out of jail. It would be my fault, yes, but he wouldn’t be locked up for a long period of time. Zetta had yet to be proven wrong. Her visions were without fail, spot on.

  Maybe I felt like if I hadn’t taken the chance to escape, then my father wouldn’t have ended up in jail that night. But it didn’t matter. His men would figure out a way to break him out. They’d done it before and I was positive they could easily do it again. Maybe what was really bothering me was the most freeing sense of relief I’d felt after finding out he would be imprisoned. After all, his arrest was the most likely reason I had enough time to get away.

  I probably shouldn’t be so pleased with myself while my father was trapped in a jail cell somewhere. It was the most horrible of all punishments for a gypsy to be incarcerated.

  To not have the freedom to roam- it was considered torture.

  I deserved to get trapped on that road in the midst of the raging storm. I probably deserved to die, too. So why was I alive? How did the angel find me? There were so many unanswered questions. . .

  It took a long while, but eventually, I dragged myself from the shower. Then I had to face my reflection in the mirror.

  Who are you? I silently asked the person staring back at me.

  Jet black hair. Bright, sapphire eyes. Full, pink lips. My image appeared much more innocent than my black heart truly was. Perhaps, not my body though. My body was lithe, yet curvy. Too curvy- I hated it. When I tried to lose weight, it never worked. I love food too much. And when I tried to gain weight, I would never gain it in the places that would dull my buxomness. Instead, I became bustier and my hips became rounder, which made my waist appear tinier. I suppose under normal circumstances I would feel lucky. Confident, even. But my appearance never served me.

  It started with Luca, my father’s favorite lackey. Because my father favored Luca, I’d been engaged to him from the age of fourteen, though I felt nothing more for him than the type of love one feels for their brother.

  It didn’t matter, anyway. My engagement to Luca was broken when my father realized he could profit from me. Apparently, I’d been seen by one of the Royals during one of Lina’s performances in Istanbul. My father was offered an obscene amount of money in exchange for me. And of course, being the greedy swine that he is, my father happily decided to hand me over and to terminate his arrangement with Luca.

  Even in modern times, betrothals were a common practice amongst gypsy tribes. But as I later found out, it wasn’t marriage that the Royal wanted. In fact, it wasn’t even the Royal who offered my father the money.

  Instead, it was a woman. A woman who decided she recognized beauty in me that would make a lot of money within the members her social groups. I learned through my aunt that she was a madam. A very wealthy and renowned madam.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. Royals tended to only marry each other, or at least within their own ranks. But I had been surprised. In fact, I had been completely shocked and hurt at the time. I was expected to become a modern day gypsy courtesan. It began to sink in that my father was willingly trying to turn me into a whore.

  “You will have the dream life,” my father advised me excitedly. He attempted to spin his plans for me into some kind of fantasy.
“You’ll travel amongst the Royals and rich jetsetters. You can attend college if you want. They’ll even pay your tuition. Your every wish and desire will be yours to have. Staying with me and marrying Luca would never give you the same opportunities. This way, you will have the right to choose your own man. How many gypsy women can say the same, eh?”

  I hated him in that moment. And at the same time, I fiercely loved him. Though he was clearly insane, the man truly believed he was doing me a favor.

  I was supposed to leave for Romania on my eighteenth birthday. Only a few months away, my birthday had been looming over my head for a while now. It had been hard enough to accept a marriage between Luca and me. But life as a call girl? I shuddered, just thinking about it. I’d been dreading my birthday’s arrival with each passing day.

  So I ran away.

  I should have been a good, little daughter and willingly obeyed my father’s bidding. I would have spent the remainder of my life in the lap of luxury. If I had caught the attention of a Royal, I would have never had to want for anything. And truthfully, as much as I hated to admit it, the kind of life I would have had with the madam might have been preferable to the one I would have shared with Luca.

  That’s when I realized I needed to leave.

  There was something in me, telling me I couldn’t just sit back and let either fate happen. I didn’t regret leaving. . .but I did regret how it had to be done.

  Clutching my towel, I escaped the person in the mirror and headed downstairs. It was time to tell Miriam everything, whether I was prepared to or not.

  THREE

  As I was meandering down the stairwell, I was caught off guard when I heard the sound of several unknown voices looming nearby. I paused for a moment. I hadn’t been expecting anyone to be in the house except for my grandmother. Quietly, I peeked into the kitchen.

  There were two young girls helping my grandmother cook dinner. The girls were very pretty; one had coppery hair and the other was an iridescent blonde. Both of them were tall and slender, modelesque in stature. The girls were laughing with Miriam over some joke that had been told. The scene was warm and loving. I suddenly felt like an intruder.