"Actually, I was considering keeping her all to myself." Julian smirked mischievously at his parents and then turned the full force of that stare on me. Remembering the events of just moments before, I looked for something in the room on which to focus my attention and quickly found myself staring at my worn-out black boots.
"Mom, Dad, this is Aspen. Aspen, these are my parents, Constantine and Felice Casey," Julian announced properly, as if he had sensed my anxiety and was attempting to calm me.
"It is so lovely to meet you, Aspen," Mrs. Casey expressed with sincerity in her eyes. "We so rarely have the pleasure of meeting any of Julian's friends."
"Mother," Julian grinned at her angelically as he withdrew from my side and kissed her gently on the cheek, "don't be silly. I told you when there was someone worth meeting . . . " He left his sentence unfinished as he glanced back at me with the same smile he had given his mother.
"It's nice to meet both of you as well, Mr. and Mrs. Casey." I stammered a little, suddenly so nervous I could hardly breathe. "You have such a lovely home."
"Thank you, Aspen. Please, call us Constantine and Felice," Mr. Casey gestured to himself and his wife with an easy smile. "We were just preparing to sit down to dinner. Might you be persuaded to join us?"
I glanced over to Julian for some kind of cue as to what my response to the invitation should be. Given our newly uncomfortable circumstance due to how he’d responded to the poor man in the street, I just wasn't sure. He looked from me to his father with a dazzling smile and said, "We'd love to."
I trailed behind Julian and his parents into a large dining room with a beautiful crystal chandelier hanging over a dark-wood table with seating for ten. Constantine gracefully pulled out a chair for Felice at the same time that Julian pulled one out for me. I wondered as I took my seat next to him how someone with such impeccable manners could have behaved so poorly with that vagrant when the situation obviously required only a little humanity and compassion.
I shook off the thought when I heard my name being called. I looked down to discover that a garden salad had already been served. The Caseys were already engaged in a lively discussion; I had no idea how long I had been lost in thought, but apparently it was enough time for Julian to have explained my predicament to his parents.
"I don't mean to pry, but what happened to your parents, dear?" Felice asked with obvious tenderness as she reached her hand across the table to place it over mine. "A convent seems a difficult place for a little girl to grow up."
I took a deep breath before I began. Reminiscing about my past was like removing a Band-Aid; I didn't want to do it at all, but if it was necessary, I'd make it quick. "My parents were killed just after I was born," I said matter-of-factly. "Mother Superior took me in when the sisters were unable to locate any family or adoptive parents."
"And the convent?" Felice reminded me.
"I never knew anything else." I shook my head as I looked down to examine the salad in front of me. "I spent my life working with the sisters and those less fortunate." My eyes darted over to Julian as I doled out those last words, and I felt a desperate need for a change in conversation, location―anything.
"So, Mom, Dad, what do you think of my plan?" Julian asked with the posture of a stockbroker trying to close a deal on Wall Street.
"Sounds like an excellent idea, Julian." Constantine smiled approvingly at his son before turning his gaze toward me. "I'd like to hear Aspen's thoughts though."
Apparently, I'd been busy ruminating for that part of the discussion because I had no clue what plan Julian was referring to or how to answer his father.
As if sensing my distress, Julian spoke up.
"I thought, since you'd be staying above the café, it wouldn't be too big a stretch for you to work there?"
"Oh," I replied while biting my lower lip, "um, I would hate to impose on anyone." My mind kept replaying Julian's pained expression as he looked at the homeless man in the street tonight.
"Nonsense," Julian's mother waved my words away with her hand. "We'll get you settled into a room tomorrow, and you can start at the café whenever you feel ready."
The rest of dinner passed by in a blur, my mind swimming from being homeless earlier to suddenly having been offered a job and a place to live. The problem was that if Julian was the kind of person who could treat another human being with such gross inhumanity, how could he possibly be the person I had hoped he was?
After dessert, we said goodnight to Constantine and Felice, and Julian led me up the wide spiral staircase and through a door on the left side of the hallway. I had never seen anything so grand in all my life. The wallpaper was crimson embossed with a gold scrolling pattern, which was illuminated by the crystal chandelier hanging in the center of the room. A king-sized, four-poster bed was covered with a white duvet and numerous throw pillows and there was a regal armchair in the corner that complemented the decor.
Julian watched me curiously as I absorbed my new surroundings, drinking in each nuance of finery and contrasting it with the poverty life had shown me. Finally, after having soaked in the richness of the room, my gaze fell hard on Julian.
"What are you doing here with me?" I asked with a mixture of anger and disbelief at my own boldness.
"What am I doing?" he replied with a lightness that did not reflect the intensity in his eyes.
"Julian, you brought a homeless girl in to meet your parents while you could barely tolerate looking at the poor vagrant outside." My voice quivered and tears threatened to expose my true sadness.
"You don't understand, Aspen," Julian exhaled audibly, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. "It's not the same thing. I . . . "
He trailed off.
"Help me understand," I practically pleaded with him.
"I can't," he breathed, looking as tormented as he had earlier.
"What is it, Julian?" I asked as I took his shaking hands in mine. "You can trust me."
Julian hesitated for a long moment before turning his back to me, his right hand gripping the back of his neck. He started to pace while his mind took him back to the day of the event. When he finally began, he spoke so quietly I had to move closer to hear him.
"I was only fourteen when it happened. I was walking downtown to my dad's office when this guy stepped out of the alley in front of me. It all happened so fast, but I still see his face sometimes. I'll never forget his eyes―it was like they looked right through me. One minute he was asking me for money and the next I was on the ground with him on top of me and a knife to my throat. I barely escaped with my life." When he finally stopped pacing, his head hung in shame.
"What happened?" I continued to push gently. "How did you get away?"
"I managed to stab him," Julian said without a hint of emotion. "I didn't have a choice."
Immobilized by shock, I watched as Julian moved toward the door to leave. In that instant, I knew that his reaction to the vagrant in the street had not been one of disgust, but of shock and fear. Sister Mary Constance had talked about the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder in my psychology studies at the convent, and Julian was exhibiting a number of them.
"Julian, wait," I called as I stepped hesitantly toward him and stared up into his unbelievably blue eyes. I had no profound words to offer him after what he had confided in me, and the concept of comforting another person without a clear and concise script was very nearly foreign to me. So, I did the only thing I could think of in the moment. I wrapped my arms around him, pressed my cheek firmly against his chest, and held onto him while I cried the tears he couldn't.
4
My dreams had always been in black and white or shades of gray, but that night, they were invaded by color.
I opened my eyes to see a night sky littered with stars that twinkled in shades from the entire spectrum. I took a deep breath, and as I exhaled, I realized my white cloud of breath was visible, though my skin was immune to the chill. Bringing my gaze down to explore my surroundin
gs, I discovered that I was sitting on a fallen log in the middle of a dense forest. The tree beneath me was covered in layers of thick moss ranging from olive to emerald to forest green, some patches appeared as soft as velvet while others seemed like small sponges suitable for scrubbing dishes. A number of burnt-orange toadstools stood tall on top of the log in a row, as if daring me to stand too.
Obligingly, I rose from my seated position and brushed the wood chips and other debris from my white satin dress, which was an exact replica of the one that I'd worn for my first communion so many years ago. Once I was standing though, my attire was the furthest thing from my mind.
I was able to see all of the trees around me, each branch coated in more moss, dripping in green and yellow lichen. The colors fluoresced from within each entity, and I felt myself overwhelmed by the strange beauty around me. Reaching out to touch a strand of the hanging algae, I focused on a single water droplet forming at its end. I watched as the small bead grew larger and became so heavy that it dropped from the tip of the branch, plummeting to the hard earth below. I stared at the spot where the clear blue drop met the ground and marveled at the clarity with which my eyes could visualize every minuscule detail of my environment. They scanned the wooded area, and as they did, a sense of familiarity washed over me. I remembered a place a short distance from the convent where Sister Mary Constance would often chaperone an outdoor lesson when weather permitted. Believing that perhaps I'd see the same cross and stained glass in the distance, I turned in that direction and stopped short at what I saw. Before me were two ethereal beings who, though I was too young to remember, I knew instinctively to be my parents. And while the rest of the world around me was kaleidoscopic with colors of varying shades and hues, the two people I longed to see most in the world were still veiled in black and white.
I held my breath as I blinked my eyes, fearful to look away from them for even a moment lest they disappear. Relief flooded through me when I opened my eyes and saw the two of them standing exactly where they had been. I looked to my father first because the faint white glow emanating from him pulled my gaze. His features were structured and angular, but his eyes held a kindness and sincerity that brought tears to my own. I wanted to look into them forever, but it was difficult to focus on his form for too long because the pallor radiating from him seemed to bleach the color from everything nearby. He looked from me to the figure standing beside him and my gaze followed.
My mother.
Where my father was cast in ivory and alabaster, she was sculpted in shades of obsidian and charcoal. I wanted desperately to know if I resembled her, to see if I looked my mother, but the inky film of the shadows that permeated her being obscured the planes of her face. She was shrouded in darkness that oozed from every part of her. When I looked back up to stare at both of them together, I noticed that they were nearly touching as they stood side by side. The glow from my father attempted unsuccessfully to permeate the black pool beside him, and, as I watched, an involuntary shiver went down my spine. The ebony tendrils born of my mother slowly wove into the light of my father.
I pushed down the sensation of fear that threatened to steal the only time I'd ever had with my family. Staring at the people who were taken from me long before I ever had the chance to know them, a million questions swirled through my mind. But before I had a chance to formulate a coherent sentence, my mother lifted an outstretched arm toward me, and the fear I had felt melted away as feelings of love and belonging took its place. A single tear formed, and I blinked it backed so that nothing would obscure the view of my mother and father. When I opened my eyes, they were gone.
I had only closed them for a moment.
Rubbing them vigorously, I attempted to bring back the ghostly images of the two people I had seen only moments before.
"NO!" I cried out in distress, afraid I had lost my only connection to my parents forever. "Please, don't leave me!"
I ran to the exact spot where they had been standing only moments before, but I felt no trace of their presence. Desperation took over, and I began running through the forest, hurling branches out of my way and tripping on rocks, logs, and other ground cover. I ran for what seemed like an eternity before I realized that I was right back where I started at the fallen log. Collapsing down onto the moss-covered mass, I hung my head dejectedly and began to sob for my parents.
"Please, don't leave me," I repeated, choking out the words between breathless wails.
I had never missed them more than I did in that moment.
"It's only a dream. I'm right here, Aspen." I heard the faraway words from the familiar voice at the same time that I felt my body being scooped gently into two powerful arms. "And I'm not going anywhere."
My eyes abruptly fluttered open as if against their will, and I found myself staring into the most beautiful baby blue pair I'd ever seen. Julian. His brow was creased with worry as he watched me with an intensity that looked out of place on his usually controlled face. I felt his thumbs sweep the tears from my cheeks, his hands smoothing unruly strawberry strands of hair away from my face. Knowing the drops were still pooling and starting to spill over again, I buried my face in his chest and clung to his shirt with both hands.
"It's all right," Julian whispered as he stroked my hair with one hand, still cradling my shoulder with the other.
I held fast to Julian while images from the dream played repeatedly in my mind and tears left trails down my cheeks.
Mother Superior had reminded me often that crying was a sign of weakness, but I suddenly realized I didn't feel weak sitting there in Julian's arms―I felt safe. Loosening my grip on his shirt, I pulled away from Julian to search his face. His expression was still visibly tense, but his eyes were full of compassion. He seemed to relax a bit as I offered him a faint smile while I swiped the remaining drops from beneath my chin.
Peering up at him through a thick curtain of lashes, I cleared my throat as my anxiety level rose. While I had always had a dictionary of words at my disposal, they had never seemed as inadequate as they did in that moment. Unfortunately, I knew Julian would continue to hover protectively over me until I said something to release him from his burden.
"I'm all right," I said with more confidence than I actually felt.
Julian arched an inquisitive brow and sat in silence, as if waiting for me to either prove the validity of my statement or give a full confession. Considering I didn't even feel capable of convincing myself that I was okay, I went with the latter. I had no idea how to explain my strange dream to Julian, so I finally just blurted out, "I think I saw my parents."
He stared at me for a moment, his face unreadable, until confusion appeared to settle in.
"I thought your parents died when you were young?"
"They did," I explained quietly, afraid of being overtaken by emotion again, "but tonight I saw them for the first time―in a dream."
Julian bowed his head sympathetically as he took my hand in his and pressed it gently to his lips, comforting with actions rather than words.
Feeling overwhelmed by his gesture, I continued.
"When they disappeared, I felt as though I'd lost them all over again."
"No, Aspen," he said, repositioning me so that I was sitting directly across from him on the bed, though he was still holding my hand. "Don't you see? It's just the opposite."
"I don't understand." I shook my head, completely bewildered by his statement.
"You didn't lose them tonight," he clarified, sounding so certain that my heart wanted nothing more than to believe him. "You finally found them."
Staring down at our hands, it took a minute for me to comprehend how Julian's words might be true, but when it finally happened, my whole world seemed different. No longer was I the little orphan girl who'd never seen her parents. I would never again wonder about the unspoken words in my father's eyes or the feeling of comfort that only a mother could offer. And, more important to me than anything else in the world, I knew how much th
ey loved me.
Blinking back the swelling tears, I looked up at Julian with pure gratitude. "Thank you . . . for helping me to see."
"I will always be here to help you," he whispered as he leaned down to kiss my forehead. Pushing himself up off the bed, he walked over to the door and turned back to face me with his boyishly handsome grin. "Sweet dreams."
"Goodnight, Julian." I couldn't help but giggle in response.
I reached over to the nightstand to turn off the light, pulled the covers up over my shoulders, and closed my tired eyes. With a deep breath and a silent prayer of thanks, I drifted to sleep, truly grateful my personal savior had come along outside the café.
5
Pouring a second cup of coffee for one of the regulars who was perusing The Free Press before work, I mused at how I had come to enjoy the routine of the morning shift. The early-risers had threatened to boycott when they discovered that their beloved scone server and baker was going back into the kitchen full-time and that I would be replacing her behind the counter. Most had warmed up to me instantly though, and one of the older couples, the Davenports, seemed to want to adopt me as one of their honorary grandchildren. The concept, though foreign, warmed my soul. I'd always wanted a family.
Sister Mary Constance had been like a mother to me growing up. It pained me to leave the convent, knowing I would feel the void that not having her around would leave, but I knew that I wasn't going to follow in her path and become a novitiate. The constraints of convent life were many, and I knew that once I was eighteen, I would strike out on my own. I felt compelled to find my own way―my higher purpose. God had a plan for all His children, so I put my faith in Him and left.
Since then, my life had completely changed, and my mind worked hard to keep up with it all. I loved the sense of normalcy a job provided to me. I was still serving and felt a strong connection to that, even if it was a most literal interpretation of the word. And, perhaps more surprisingly, being on my own never frightened me like I thought it would. My blind faith in God allowed me to push aside any brief moments of weakness and forge ahead, accepting His help when he provided it. The Caseys, my home, my job, even the Davenports, were all His blessings, and I accepted them without question.
Tempted by Evil Page 3