There had finally been a lead the day before that they may have uprooted and gone to Texas, but he still hadn’t verified it, and without having someone physically going to check it out, how would they? The couple hadn’t used their phones; in fact, they’d been turned off, and Justice hadn’t seen the numbers changed with their carrier, or an address change – even a temporary one – in the system.
Midge sighed as she leaned into him, wrapping her arms about his waist as her head rested against his chest. “She was tiny, but no… she was closer to eight pounds, and nearly two inches longer. So, you’re right… Nathaniel? He’s tiny. Almost as small as Chosen and Duncan were when Paloma had them.”
An image flittered through his mind of when he’d first held the twins, and he nodded. She was right; they’d been smaller, but not by much.
He was just thankful that each of them – Clayton, included, considering he and Nathaniel were the two they’d most prayed and worried over, knowing ahead of time that health problems might be imminent – had survived and that, so far, each of them had thrived. Even Masao and Anouk Chanel’s grandson, Christophe, had begun to really move Justice’s heart, and he kept vowing to himself he’d spend more time with him, but as of yet, no such promise had been kept.
He had to start clearing room in his schedule for what was truly important, aside from work.
Work had consumed him too long, and when he’d landed in a heap in the middle of the Stuarts’ yard after bowing before the triune thrones, he’d known it was time for some changes.
Now, he just had to implement them. Maybe, just maybe Nathaniel’s birth could be a secondary impetus to do so, because he’d been sensing for some months that he should be mentoring all these young men in his life. They had wonderful dads, most of them, but even still, he sensed that they needed him. They needed him to be a role model, and to show an interest in their lives, no matter what was happening with them.
Christophe had fallen twice into a bad crowd, but thankfully, Masao had been able to help steer him free from the entanglements of those associations. Jermaine – his father – had done his best, but ultimately, it had been Masao that the young man had listened to.
Had he not, who knows what sort of trouble he would have ended up in.
Justice sighed in relief at the thought of the boy, safe from harm. The same could be said of the Iglesias boys. Their father had done well, and between he and Edward, the pair had remained on the right path.
And it was high time that, instead of focusing only on his family of origin and the one he had created inside the four walls of his home, he focused outwardly; not just about clients and co-workers, but about the family and friends he once thought he’d never see again.
The family and friends who had missed much of Izzie’s growing up, and he and Midge, their children’s, all because of his career choice. And while he’d hated giving up those relationships, God had seen fit to redeem them and join them back together again, for which Justice thanked God daily.
“What’s the sigh for,” Midge asked even as he heard Rose moving about in the next room over, where she’d been napping.
“I think it’s time I start mentoring all these boys and young men in my life, Honey. And I think it’s something I was supposed to be doing before now, so… no time like the present, if they’ll let me,” he told her, moving her away to look into her eyes.
“I think that’s a-”
The alarm on his phone vibrated in his pocket, and it caused him to jump.
“Sorry,” he told her, cringing as Rose walked out into the hall, rubbing her eyes and wincing. Her disheveled blonde hair and floor-length nightdress made her look like a doll that had just woken from a dream into reality, her figure already beginning to slim back down to her previous, waif-like structure. “Got to get to the office, but…” He paused to kiss Midge, then moved to give Rose a gentle hug. “Keep in mind what I was telling you, because I’ve got a few ideas I’ve been working on, alright?”
His wife nodded as he moved past her on the way toward the kitchen to grab the lunch he’d brought with him, and then, he was out the door.
So much for getting to spend time with Nathaniel Joel Wishart-Laurent today. He’d fallen asleep twenty minutes after Justice and Midge had arrived. And since Rose was still healing, and Justice and Midge had had to miss church the day before, anyway, it was the first time they’d been able to get together.
S. Gillam and Angelique had even gone to the coast for the day to give Rose some time to herself and with her friend so they could get to know the baby better.
The memory of the little boy’s eyes – gentle as a dove, but alert, and the most unusual color of grey tinged green – haunted Justice as he made his way to the car, got in, and buckled up. He set his lunch on the seat next to him, fired up the engine, and headed back toward his house.
Maybe this time, Mr. Courageous would be quiet enough for him to concentrate on what he needed to do. Otherwise, it was to the doghouse, much as they both hated it.
Thirty Eight
Edward scrambled to grab Confetti before she could make it out the door. Who had left it standing open, screen and all?
Everyone in the house knew the screen had to remain shut; this curly-coated cat was more anxious to get out than Petunia had ever been, and had already escaped on them twice, causing tension and anxiety for several hours each time until, finally, she came back, not too keen on the rain that had begun falling.
He was thankful she hated rain, but today, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. She’d stay out all day if she could, and quite possible beyond that.
Tucking her under his arm like a football as she writhed her multi-hued body in protest, Edward shut both doors and set her down before calling Paloma into the room.
“Any idea who left the door standing wide open, like they live in a barn,” he asked her when she rounded the corner. “Because we might have had a Confetti pancake this time.”
He hated the word picture, but it was the truth: she didn’t know the rules of the road; didn’t know not to rush into the street when cars were coming, though to Edward, he didn’t see how it didn’t make complete sense, even to a cat. Something moves fast toward you, you don’t stop and look at it; you run home.
“Edward!”
She put her hands on her hips a moment, frowning before, finally, she began to laugh. “I’m sorry, Edward. It might have been me. I thought I’d latched it all the way when I moved the garbage cans a few minutes ago, and… oh, Edward. A Confetti pancake! We certainly don’t want one of those, unless it’s actual food.”
And Edward laughed with her, thinking of the time she had, indeed, attempted to create a pancake that looked as though it had been covered in confetti, adding chocolate whipping cream and sprinkles to it. The kids had loved it; they’d requested it days in advance
Himself? Not so much, though he was glad they’d enjoyed it. Since it had been Chosen and Duncan’s birthday, he’d said nothing in front of them and done his best to keep a straight face through the meal, but it had seemed like overkill to him.
And then he got the extra connection.
For that was precisely the word he’d used later on when discussing his thoughts with her. The pancakes were overkill on the sugar; their cat would have been roadkill, and he was thankful she wasn’t.
And then, as if she knew they were laughing at her, Confetti rubbed up against his leg, and he lifted her again. “Sorry I footballed you, old girl,” he said, trying to contain his laughter. “But sometimes, when trying to save the lives of one’s pets, you do odd things.”
She began to purr, rubbing her curly little head against his chin, occasionally bumping against it, as he walked with her toward the couch with a sigh.
Good thing he was working from home today. Otherwise, he’d have been nearly twenty minutes late by now.
Paloma headed toward the Amethyst & Alabaster shop behind the house after checking on her hens a second time, nearly bumping
into Mariana Eliade on the way in.
Impeccable as always, the woman’s hair was back in a chignon and her simple fuchsia and evergreen-colored block dress had been accessorized with a wide belt and some penny loafers, along with a feathery pin at the left shoulder. And at the moment, her arms were full of look books and newspapers, headed toward the house.
“My apologies,” Paloma told her as she scrambled to help Mariana retain the pile that was attempting to escape her grip. “I should have paid more attention to where I was going.”
Something fluttered to the ground, and Paloma bent to pick it up for her, glancing at it a moment.
A letter from Grace Akito?
How had it ended up in the office, instead of the house, and how come she hadn’t seen it? The date said it had been delivered more than three weeks ago.
“What’s this,” she asked, trying to keep her temper down.
Had she gotten the letter when it arrived, maybe the couple would have been able to be here when she, Edward, Justice, and Jason had gone into the mirror’s portal. And maybe Grace would have gone with her; she’d wished it in her heart, missing the woman immensely the past year, since they’d lost touch….
“Mailman put it in the wrong box by mistake, and Shelley didn’t tell me until now that you had mail here, so I was bringing it into the house. You know how that goes, right,” Mariana said. “It’s happened before, but we usually catch it long before now. When she left for vacation the day after it arrived, I just assumed there wasn’t anything for the house, and we were swamped already, so I just….”
Mariana sighed, glanced down at her stack, and back up to Paloma, her eyes becoming teary. “I’m sorry. I should have had more on the ball, considering that it might be something important – and there are three more letters for you, too. How all four of them ended up here at B instead of at A, I don’t know, but…”
Paloma nodded at the woman and helped her inside the house, opening the slider for her so she could set her burden down and then, quickly glancing through the pile, she found the other letters.
Why, what an odd, eclectic assortment! Letters not only from Grace, but from Pier Rose, and Mimi Iglesias, and Kristof Sage, of all people.
What on earth was all this about? Other than Kristof, they’d all been friends – well, Mimi had been her children’s friend more than hers, and it was, indeed, addressed to Cherish, but…
How did a letter addressed to her daughter end up addressed in care of the clothing studio, and what did Kirstof want? She sighed as she plopped down into one of the overstuffed chairs nearby as Mariana made her way back outside. “I’ll read these quickly and be with you momentarily,” she told her as she slid a nail under the seal of the letter she dreaded.
Taking a deep breath, she paused, then pulled out the stiff stationary she’d come to know when he’d written she and Edward each a letter at Christmas – notably for Edward’s fiftieth his birthday the year before. What is it this time, she wondered. What else could he possibly want? He’s already done his best to decimate my character, and now he has the gall to write me once more?
As she took in the words on the page, her mind began to reel.
What?
What did he mean he was coming for another visit? Why hadn’t he called?
Or had he, while she was gone?
She looked at the date on the envelope: same as the date on the one from Grace, which meant it arrived the day before…
Had God kept her from this mail on purpose until now? And if so, how did he expect to get her family to agree to this? How could she?
And then, with resolution, she clenched her fist.
No.
She would simply call him and explain that, as much as he might like to stay with them, it would be impossible. There was too much at stake in all of their lives, and in their futures, for Kristof Sage to come barging back here in – she gasped – tomorrow?
She reached for her phone and quickly told it to call him.
“I’m sorry, but that number now belongs to another party, and our system does not have a current one. Please call your local operator, only if it is an emergency,” the phone replied about four seconds later, to her dismay.
“Then get me the operator, and fast, you stupid phone,” she said, sweat beginning to form on her brow as the thought of being stuck with a man who hated – no, loathed – her, and for who knew how long.
She glanced back through the letter as the phone did it’s best to connect. After three attempts, it finally got through to a signal, and she was immediately on hold. She had time to read the whole letter thoroughly before a mustachioed man in a red velvet stocking cap greeted her, announcing his name was Raimundo.
“Raimundo, as I’m sure the system can tell you, my name is Paloma. I am the owner of Amethyst & Alabaster here in Vancouver, Washington, and I’m having an emergency. Someone is set to arrive here tomorrow, and I have no way to get hold of him. I’m hoping you can help me?”
She pulled her wallet from her purse and showed him her identification, and then the letter with Kristof’s address and explained that his phone was no longer in service. “So what I need is, even if you don’t give me the number, for you to connect me with whatever one he’s got now, because this man cannot stay here; not on short notice. Not when I have a hundred other things on my plate, and it would cause my family to get in an uproar.”
“Let me see what I can do,” Raimundo told her, his voice halfway empathetic. He scratched his chin a moment, imputed some information, and then resumed. “Ah, yes, here we are. Three different Kristof Sages, only one living in France. I will connect you now. Hope he gets the message in time, since he might already be on board his flight.”
And with that, the phone rang again as he pressed his thumb into the screen to disconnect himself. Five, six, seven rings and then, finally, a much-older looking Kristof than she remembered picked up.
“I wondered when you’d finally get around to calling me, Darling,” the man said, his weathered face looking haggard, a large bowler hat covering his head. His voice was barely above a whisper, and yet it looked like he was straining to get that much sound from his lips. “I’ve already entered the States, so it’s a relief to get your call. I realized I forgot to send my new number…”
Behind him, she could see and hear people milling around, and she could tell he was at some sort of airport: a screen behind him could barely be read with multiple destinations scrolling across it.
“First of all, I’m not your Darling,” she told him, surprising herself as she stood, “and secondly, I only got your letter in the last half hour and I must say, sorry to do this to you, but it looks like you’ll need to be in a hotel. I know that’s last minute, and I’ll even help you find one, but… we cannot have you staying with us; not again. We’ve got too much going on for there to be a guest staying here, no matter who it is, or why.”
Thinking back on the letter as she saw him frown, she wondered why, indeed, he wanted to even come. He hadn’t even told her. And why was he whispering? Airports were loud. Was he struck with laryngitis or something at the moment?
“I’m dying, Paloma.”
The words reeled through her head like a slap on the face. Here she was thinking ill of the man, and he was dying? Shame sliced through her like a knife as he continued, his words low and shaky.
“I need to be around people who are real, and…,” he sighed, raising a glass to his lips. Water, or something stronger? “I don’t know anyone else as real as you and your little brood are, and quite honestly, I don’t see why I hated you so much. I’ve come to realize that looks, well,” he moved a hand gingerly toward the hat and removed it.
The man was bald, and on the side of his head, above the left ear, was some sort of lump. Paloma nearly dropped the phone as she cried out in shock.
“What-”
“I have cancer, Paloma. And not just in one spot. I won’t go into the details, but… I just…”
&nbs
p; Kristof stopped talking and wiped a shaking hand against his face; underneath his eyes.
Cancer?
Memories of those who had gone before her – her grandfather, her aunt, and yes, her mother, though she hadn’t died of the cancer – swept through her like a hurricane and her eyes watered.
“Well,” she told him. “We’ll make it work for the first couple of days until I can find somewhere decent for you to….”
She let the words trail off, and shook her head, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I’m sorry if there’s anything I ever did that made things hard on you. I know you’re not comfortable around people who are…” How could she put it? What could she say?
“You know, Darling,” he said, and she let it slide as he continued. “The only reason I didn’t like you was you reminded me of my wife And of everything my mother had warned me against loving and embracing. For the record, I really must apologize. My…”
He broke into tears even as his flight was called, and he startled.
“Got to run. See you at the airport?”
She nodded at him, tears beginning to stream from her own eyes. “Sure. And don’t forget we’ve got Confetti here, so if we need to stop for anything to keep your allergies from taking over, then…”
“Got to run, Darling,” he said again, thumb grazing the screen.
And with that, she sat back down, cried a while, called Edward to let him know they’d have a visitor by seven fifteen the next morning, and then tried to compose herself long enough to get through the letters from Grace and Pier Rose.
Neither of which were easy, in the slightest, to read.
Edward came downstairs to check on his wife after she called to let him know about Kristof’s letter, and her subsequent phone call, his mind still reeling from all the news.
Wordlessly, he found her in tears over a letter. Was it the one from Kristof, or something else?
The Angels' Mirror Pack 2: Books Four through Seven Page 82