Looking up at him, I blushed as I considered that this perfect creature had gone to all that trouble for someone like me.
“Part one,” he purred, arching a perfect brow at me while the corners of his lips hovered in their constantly upturned position.
“Part one?” I queried.
“Now you’re catching on.” He winked at me, leading me over to the small table with his hand on the small of my back.
Pulling out my chair for me, he waited until I was seated before seating himself—a sign of a properly raised gentleman, according to Constance.
Immediately, a man pushing a small cart appeared with two plates full of food. Chicken, vegetables, rice, and bread all crowded the gleaming metal surface. He also had two glasses of water with lemon slices. My stomach was in such a tangle that I wasn’t certain I was going to be able to eat a single morsel, but I was going to try, seeing as how Julian had made all of this happen just for me.
We sat across from one another, he looking completely flawless and relaxed, while I, on the other hand, probably looked as though there was a hair in my food.
I gathered he must have picked up on this when he asked, “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s perfect,” I replied, looking down at my plate, around at the boat, then finally into Julian’s crystal blue eyes. “It’s so perfect, I’m afraid of saying or doing anything that might spoil it.”
Shrugging off my words, he just laughed a little as he took my hands in his. “That’s not possible, Aspen, because you’re perfect. For me.”
We finished our meal with easy conversation about our respective childhoods—mine with the sisters at the convent and his with the King of the Seas. We discovered that we weren’t really as different as we thought after all. About that time, Julian’s mouth widened into an impossibly wide grin as Joseph, our server for the evening, wheeled out the cart once again.
“Part two,” Julian announced proudly as Joseph removed the silver lids from the serving dishes, revealing the most decadent looking dessert I’d ever seen. “Better-than-sex chocolate cake.”
My eyes widened in surprise at the name of the sweet course, and my face turned a thousand shades of red. Julian laughed as he took in my response and Joseph set the cake in front of me. Picking up my fork, I cut a small sliver with frosting to sample and placed it in my mouth. While I had no basis for comparison, that 'better-than-sex' cake was better than anything I’d ever tasted before in my entire life. I savored each bite in silence while Julian picked at his dessert and watched me with absorbed interest. As soon as I was finished with my cake, he happily slid his plate over for me so that I could finish his dessert as well.
“So it’s safe to assume you enjoyed the cake?” Julian smirked at me with an expectant brow.
“It was all right,” I said playfully, licking the corner of my lip. “It was chocolate, after all.”
“Good. So, on to part three?” he questioned, both eyebrows raised and right hand extended out to me.
“Absolutely,” I responded more confidently than I felt, easily placing my hand in his. Being with Julian seemed to have that effect on me.
As soon as our hands touched, he pulled me into his chest and the boat lit up with small twinkling lights that looked like stars in the heavens. Music began playing softly in the background and we swayed back and forth to its enchanting rhythm.
“This is amazing,” I wondered aloud, taking in everything around me from the docks to the lights to my date.
“You’re amazing,” Julian breathed as he twirled me around in a circle. “I’m a lucky guy.”
“You always know all the right things to say,” I said sheepishly, bringing my head down onto his shoulder.
“You make it easy,” he replied, gently kissing the top of my head.
We danced like that under the lights and stars for what seemed like an eternity, and yet it was not nearly long enough. Finally, when my feet were no longer holding me up, only the strength of Julian’s arms alone, he pulled me in so close that I wasn’t sure where I ended and he began.
His kiss was as soft as a feather lost on the wind when his lips lightly brushed against mine.
My head swam and my stomach did a million flips as I fought my knees’ natural inclination to buckle. It took me a moment to realize that Julian really was holding me upright; only the tips of my toes were touching the deck and it felt like a miracle that I hadn’t floated off altogether. Setting me back down, he took me gently by the hand and led me to the door of the boat.
“Aspen,” he began, his eyes aglow, “I just want to thank you for making this such an amazing evening.”
“Wait,” I protested, still recovering from my first kiss. “I'm pretty sure it's you who has made this evening amazing.”
“We’ll agree to disagree.” He narrowed his eyes at me teasingly, his smile still fully intact.
While walking back to Julian’s car, I thought that the evening had to be the best night of my life. First date, first kiss, first love, I thought to myself as I looked into the depths of his sea-blue eyes.
I was falling in love with Julian Casey.
*
I was giddy when I entered my apartment. My first kiss . . . I felt like I was in a fairytale, gliding along the worn-out hardwood floors with guided feet. Collapsing backward onto the bed, I touched my face as it beamed with the joy that only young love could bring. He was amazing―purely and truly amazing.
My night could not have gone more perfectly. As the moon spilled in through my bedroom window, I languidly rose from the bed to close it out, hoping that the darkness would beckon sleep to me. It was full and bright as I looked up to the sky, widening the smile on my face. Everything seemed more beautiful when happiness abounded. When I reached for the cord to pull the shutters, I spotted something in the shadows of the alley below me.
A silhouette.
A man.
Merrick?
His back was to me, walking away to slip around the corner at the far end of the alleyway. My heart faltered momentarily. Had he followed me? And to what purpose? Mystery shrouded him, and though it should have made me, in all my good sense, run for the hills, it didn't. Instead, I found myself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. A dangerous game of cat and mouse was afoot.
10
Another unseasonably warm day for Beaufast had all the natives bounding around town in t-shirts and flip-flops, and the tourists looking painfully out of place in sweaters and boots. Julian sweetly offered to cover my shift so that I could have a day off to digest my lessons in fun after our incredible evening together. And since the town square had the loveliest park, with benches for people-watching and reading that I’d always wanted to take advantage of but had never had cause to, I decided to indulge. I settled down onto one of the wood and wrought iron structures that looked as if it was crafted at the turn of the last century and made myself comfortable.
Pulling my book from my bag, I opened The Catcher in the Rye to the place where Holden Caulfield was watching Phoebe on the carousel, his eyes close to tears. Crystal droplets fell down my own cheeks as his heartfelt tale pierced my soul, and I understood the simultaneous complexity and simplicity of love. The sleeve of my hoodie from inside my bag doubled as a tissue with which I wiped the tears from my face. Letting the story digest, I sat there, lids closed, cradling the book in my lap after I had finished the last page.
“I see Salinger made an impact,” a deep voice from above purred, catching me off guard.
My eyes flew up to find a pair as green as mint leaves staring back at me.
“It’s a beautiful story, Merrick,” I gushed, holding the book close to my chest. “I feel that Holden was such a lost soul who may have finally found a sense of identity and happiness by the end.”
“An optimist,” he murmured, taking a seat next to me on the bench.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” I asked, turning my body to face him.
“What is the basis for you
r hope?” he grunted, looking away from me and off into the distance. “Humanity becomes more depraved and apathetic by the day.”
“Humanity?” I countered, the sorrow for his jaded perspective bleeding through my tone. “You speak about people as though we’re cattle or aliens, Merrick. God created us in His image and that is the basis of my hope.”
He just stared at me with a perplexed expression, as though I were some strange creature he was observing for the first time.
“You have an interesting way of looking at things, Aspen,” he conceded, running his fingers through his already disheveled hair.
“Thank you,” I replied, biting my lower lip. “Speaking of interesting . . .”
“Yes?” he eyed me warily.
“Today’s t-shirt,” I began hesitantly. “I’m fairly certain there will be a gross mispronunciation debacle if I even attempt this one aloud.”
He looked at me questioningly for a moment before glancing down at his chest and shaking his head back and forth slightly, a smile hovering on his lips.
“Metallica,” he finally answered.
“Never heard of them,” I responded, tucking a stray lock of red hair behind my ear.
“I’m not surprised,” he quipped. “It’s not easy listening, nor is it Jesus-approved.”
“Hmm,” I thought aloud, “I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?” he queried.
“Why all the rock and roll band t-shirts?” I questioned further.
“Long story,” he stated simply.
“I’ve got time,” I pressed.
He stared at his shoes for what seemed like an eternity before he finally spoke again.
“Music for me is like books for you.”
“I see,” I said as I stared at the side of his face, his olive skin flawless in the sun.
And I did.
In that moment, I understood precisely what he was telling me. With those few words, Merrick had confessed to me that not only did he enjoy music, but it was a part of him. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye as well as Metallica was something that he related to on some personal level―something that spoke to him and his search for meaning in this world. Merrick had done the last thing I had expected; he had gotten personal.
Taking one hand off of my book, I reached it slowly toward Merrick and placed it lightly on his. He immediately ripped his hand from beneath mine and shot to his feet at lightning speed.
“You see nothing, little girl,” he spat at me as he raked his fingers through his hair again.
“I was just trying to show you that I understood you,” I pleaded, pools stinging the backs of my lids.
“I’ve got news for you, Aspen,” he said quietly, with a reserved anger pressing against his facade of calm. “You don't understand me, and you clearly don't understand life. You have no clue . . . this world is not the blessed place you want to believe it is. You would be wise to remember that.”
And with those words, he turned away from me and stalked down the street. I watched him until I could no longer see his form due to the tears that had finally made their way into my eyes, spilling quickly down my cheeks. My vision blurred, my face a swollen mess, I sat by myself on the park bench, thinking Merrick's words were suddenly very true.
I didn't understand at all.
11
I wasn’t quite ready to head back to my apartment, so I decided instead to stop into the café for a hot chocolate and one of Marie’s tasty scones. As I rounded the corner onto Main Street, I nearly collided with a very polished-looking elderly woman. Her snow-colored hair was coiled into a proper bun on the top of her head and her lips were painted pastel peach. A whisper-pink pantsuit with a matching pink and gold brooch pinned to the lapel nearly washed out her pale complexion. Her deep gray eyes glossed over as they met mine, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, sending a shiver down my spine.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered as I tried to move out of her way.
Grabbing me firmly by the wrist, her glazed stare continued to bore into me as she whispered, “Minds will be poisoned, weather altered, and time manipulated by the Anathema―the chosen one on the eve of adulthood. Her thoughts and feelings hold the power to sway man’s thoughts, the sky, and the hour.”
Standing there motionless, I said nothing while the old woman released her grip on my arm and continued her journey down the street as if nothing had happened. When I finally regained my wits and looked up to call after her, she was gone.
I considered just going home after yet another one of my dark and off-putting encounters, but opted instead to be in the company of others rather than being alone. The old woman’s words played on a loop the rest of the way to Holy Grounds, and I couldn’t escape the feeling that something truly frightening was happening to me. I wanted desperately to dismiss her message, but I was amassing enigmatic run-ins faster than I could count. It seemed too convenient to blow them off as coincidence.
Trying to evaluate the situation with some level of rationality, I broke down what she'd said. She had called me Anathema―an abomination. Could I really be viewed by God as a thing that should not exist? Someone with the kind of powers she spoke of? Surely not. She’d also said the chosen one was on the edge of adulthood, but I was already eighteen years old and living quite the adult life, if living in my own apartment and having a job counted for anything. As I contested her sentiments, I couldn't shake a growing doubt welling up from deep inside me. Something about her words was beginning to stick with me.
Walking into the café, I nestled myself into the far corner where I could be alone in the safety of others. As an experiment to disprove her theory, I quietly set to work on the task at hand: changing the weather. If I was what this woman claimed I was, then I should have been able to control it. Focusing all my energy on the window directly beside me, I stared through the pane of glass at the sky as though my very life depended on it. Although not exactly sure what I was supposed to be doing, if sheer effort alone could have affected some sort of change, the sky would have turned from blue to black in an instant. Instead, the sun continued to shine as if mocking me.
Redirecting my efforts on to something else, I sought out the clock on the wall across the room. If I was the abomination the old woman talked about, she said I should be able to control time. Channeling all my focus toward stopping the ever-ticking second hand, I figured I’d start small in order cause time to stand still. Still nothing happened. Frustration brewed, and I snatched up the spoon from the table in front of me and attempted to bend it with the power of my mind, like in the book Travels by Michael Crichton that I read after Jurassic Park (guilty pleasures of my youth that Sister Mary Constance and I sneaked into the convent).
“Having a Matrix moment, are we?” a voice as smooth as honey interrupted my foolishness and I let the spoon fall to the table.
“A what moment?” I asked curiously, looking up into the most glorious blue eyes.
“Matrix, it’s a movie,” Julian explained, scooting a chair to sit beside me, “a reference to your spoon-bending exercise. And we’ve gotta add that to the 'must see' list.”
“Um, okay,” I giggled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep into my cheeks. “How did you know I was trying to bend a spoon?”
“If you weren’t,” he began seriously before settling into his mischievous grin, “then I’m a little concerned that the spoon has a better shot with you than I do.”
“Hardly,” I scoffed, my face turning an even brighter shade of red as I sank my teeth into my lower lip, certain that I was an open book for Julian to read.
With his face set in that wide, boyish smile, Julian narrowed his eyes on me. “Tell me why your skin keeps turning that lovely shade of rose.”
“Is that a diplomatic way of saying that I’m blushing more than a prostitute in church?” I immediately covered my mouth with my hand, unable to believe I’d just repeated the expression I’d heard the sisters say in jest for years.
; Julian could not contain his laughter, though to his credit, he did try. Still chuckling, he quipped, “More like a schoolgirl in the principal’s office. And since I’m a guy with authority issues myself . . . what’s up?”
“I just had a run-in with a crazy old lady. Kind of like the homeless man from before,” I began but was immediately cut off.
“What do you mean run-in?” Julian interrogated, suddenly looking very serious. “I thought we talked about this, Aspen. Is everything okay? Were you harmed? What did she want?”
His questions came fast and furious while his anxiety, which was clearly visible, rose higher.
“I'm fine. Please calm down. You're getting upset over nothing, really.” I tried to make my voice as soothing as possible, remembering Julian’s history from before. I wanted to believe what I was telling him, but years of truth-telling had left me with a visceral awareness of being anything less than honest. “She said crazy things to me. She called me 'Anathema' and said that I would alter time, weather, and people’s minds. It was utterly bizarre, but―”
“But what?”
“She seemed so convinced when she spoke, Julian . . .”
He looked thoughtful for a moment before replying.
“So you think that you’re this Anathema just because she called you one?”
“Yes,” I began, “no. I don’t know. Maybe?” I hesitated slightly, debating as to whether or not I even wanted to bring up the lady by the ocean. Admitting that I was giving weight to the enigmatic messages was disconcerting enough, but my real fear, the one that slowly and consistently grew, was that the common denominator in all the craziness was me.
With a sigh, I decided to trust him and tell him everything, praying that he wouldn’t turn and run. I stared down at the table so that I wouldn't have to meet his gaze as I rattled off the many mysterious things I'd been told. Keeping my eyes on the prize, letting light be my only guide, Chosen one, Anathema―I sounded ridiculous as the words left my mouth. Once I was done, I unconsciously held my breath, awaiting the inevitable drop of the other shoe.
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