Season of Mists (Young Adult Paranormal Romance) (Cupid's First Strike - Teen Love In The 80's)

by Doreen Owens Malek

  The porch light snapped on, and I jumped. The screen banged open and my mother was illuminated in the doorway. Her hair was in rollers and her raincoat was thrown over her shoulders, an odd combination with her flannel pajamas.

  “Cory!” she cried, astonished. “What on earth is going on here? Do you realize that it’s two in the morning? The way that dog was yammering was enough to wake the dead!” I realized belatedly that she was brandishing her folded umbrella like a club. I don’t know what she thought she was going to do with it.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I mumbled. “I’m coming in.”

  “It’s a miracle you didn’t wake the neighbors,” she griped.

  That would have been some trick. The neighbors she referred to consisted of deaf Mrs. Jensen on the right, who would require a full scale invasion to disturb her slumber, and the Millers on the left, who were out of town.

  She stepped aside as I dragged Stella up the steps, and then she stared in horror at my feet.

  “What are you doing running around with no shoes?” she demanded. “You’ll get pneumonia. And wipe your feet before you walk on the rug; they’re filthy.”

  They were. Covered with drying mud and bits of leaves, they were mute testimony to my nocturnal wanderings.

  I examined them, bewildered. Had I been sleepwalking? I had done that a few times when I was little, but not for years since.

  “Why were you out there?” my mother asked suspiciously, restoring her coat and the umbrella to the hall closet.

  I didn’t know what to say. “Stella thought she saw something,” I improvised, which was apparently not far from the truth.

  My mother, who knew a fish story when she heard one, said, “Hmm,” and shut off the outside light. “Go to bed now, Cory,” she added. “You have to get up for school in the morning.”

  Stella trotted after me up the stairs. Once back in my room I picked her up and nuzzled her soft fur.

  “What happened, Stella?” I asked her. “Was it a dream? How did we get out there?”

  * * *

  In the morning the whole episode seemed like a product of my overactive imagination. But I saw my mother watching me warily at breakfast, and knew that my barefoot midnight ramble was uppermost in her mind.

  “Are you feeling all right, Cory?” she asked, reaching for the milk and pouring it on the all natural cereal she ate. It always tasted like oven roasted pebbles to me.

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “Do you think you’ll see your father on Saturday?” she asked carefully, mashing the little lumps of granite with her spoon.

  “I’ll talk to him if he calls,” I said neutrally, holding my breath to see if she would make an issue out of that.

  She chose not to, but it was clear that she had more to say on the subject, which I would doubtless hear in the future.

  I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  * * *

  Linda cornered me after earth science with another plan to improve my social life. She came up with one every so often, undaunted by the fact that such ventures had been miserable failures in the past. She was always convinced that if she tried hard enough she would find the magic formula which would transform me overnight into the belle of the ball.

  This time her scheme involved the weekend arrival of Ken’s cousin Brian. Something told me that Brian’s sudden decision to visit Yardley was not entirely his own idea, but Linda was the picture of innocence as she described the scenario for our double date.

  Linda had been going with Ken for six months. He was a poor second in her affections to the unattainable Jack, but serviceable as companion and escort. Linda was not the romantic I was; she didn’t demand or expect perfection.

  “Linda, I don’t want to meet Ken’s cousin,” I said wearily, interrupting her enthusiastic description of what a wonderful time we were going to have. “I certainly don’t want to go out with him. He’ll know it’s a put-up job and probably hate me. Forget it.”

  Linda placed her hands on her hips and made an exasperated noise. “Why? Why should I forget it? Are you doing any better with your mystery man from the real estate agency? Where is he?”

  “I just saw him last night.”

  “Oh really? And do you have any plans for the weekend?”

  I looked away. “No.”

  She nodded sourly. “Just as I thought. Look, I don’t know what his problem is, but if he hasn’t asked you out after all this time he isn’t going to do it. Why don’t you accept that and look elsewhere?”

  “He explained that he would see me as often as he could. I don’t want to look elsewhere.”

  “Then why don’t you look in the broom closet at the grist mill? That’s probably where he lives.”

  “That isn’t funny, Linda.”

  “You’re telling me. Ever since you met that guy you’ve been a crashing bore, moping around hoping for a glimpse of him at work. ” She paused and studied my unhappy face. After a moment she added in a gentler tone, “What can it hurt if you just go out with Brian once? Ken and I want to go to the mall, see a movie, walk around and get something to eat. Why don’t you come along to keep Brian company?”

  “I don’t know, Lin,” I said doubtfully.

  She sensed my weakening resistance. “Come on,” she wheedled.

  I threw up my hands. “All right. But you’d better promise me that you and Ken will stay with us all night. This guy could be a jerk, and I don’t want to be left alone with him.”

  Linda made a face. “He’s Ken’s relative, Cory. I don’t think he’s dangerous.”

  “You never know,” I replied airily.

  “We’ll give him a lie detector test at my house before we leave,” Linda replied disgustedly, packing up her books at the sound of the warning bell. “I’ll also ask him if he’s a member of the Communist party.”

  I grinned. “You can’t be too careful.”

  She shook her head and waved in farewell, blending in with the crowd of students passing in the hall.

  I turned in the opposite direction for my next class.

  * * *

  I did not see Tom for the rest of the week. The agency was horrendously busy, and I got so tired of the sound of ringing phones that I was ready to wear earplugs. My mood degenerated as time wore on, and as the weekend approached I wasn’t in the frame of mind to handle a double whammy like a visit with my father and a date with Brian Cranshaw. I awoke Saturday in a black humor.

  Dad called about ten. Mom handed me the telephone without comment.

  “Cory!” His voice came over the wire, familiar and yet strange. I hadn’t heard it in a while. “How are you doing, sweetheart?”

  “Fine, Dad.” What else could I say?

  “That’s good. Listen, I’d like to take you to lunch today. Where do you want to go?”

  I didn’t care. “How about the Continental Tavern?” It was right in town, and the food was good.

  “That’s fine with me,” he replied. “What time shall I pick you up? Would twelve-thirty be okay?”

  I hesitated. “What about Mom?” I asked. “Will you be seeing her?”

  There was a pause before he answered. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to see your mother today, babe.”

  I could tell that it would be unwise to push it. “Okay, Dad. See you later.” I hung up and turned back to the kitchen, where my mother was drying dishes. I noticed that she kept wiping the same plate, which was already as dry as the Gobi Desert.

  “I’m going to lunch with Dad,” I announced.

  No response.

  “Would you like to see him when he comes here?” I prodded gently.

  She put the plate down with a resounding clink and folded the dish towel with more precision than the task required. “Cory, when I need your help to intercede for me with your father, I will ask for it.” She replaced the towel on the rack and left the room.

  I sighed and poured myself a cup of coffee. No takers yet, but I would keep trying.
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  When lunchtime approached, my mother went into her bedroom and shut the door. I went out to wait for my father.

  He was on time. His cab pulled up when I was standing on the porch with Stella. She went hysterical with joy when she heard his voice.

  He got out of the car and kissed me, then sat on the bottom step and petted the dog. She licked his face wildly, whimpering with happiness. Dad laughed, dodging her slobberings as best he could. He looked up at me and sobered at the expression on my face.

  “It looks like Stella is happier to see me than you are,” he observed, picking Stella up in his arms and depositing her inside behind the screen door. He returned to my side and draped his arm around my shoulders, leading me to the car. We settled in the back seat as he gave the directions downtown to the cabbie.

  “Where are you staying?” I asked.

  “Not here,” he replied. “I had some business in Philly this morning and I’m flying back out tonight.”

  He had made a special effort to see me. “It was nice of you to stop by,” I commented stiffly.

  Dad turned in the seat to face me. “Cordelia,” he said dryly, “when you adopt that tone you sound just like your mother.”

  “Why should that surprise you?” I said, looking out the window. “I’m her daughter.”

  “You certainly are,” Dad replied, with a hint of resignation in his tone. If he had expected me to be easy, bought handily for the price of lunch, he was going to be disappointed.

  That tense exchange set the tone for the meal. I played with my hamburger while Dad ate an omelet and drank several cups of coffee. He made small talk about Phoenix and his job there until I blurted, “Don’t you love Mommy any more?”

  My father put down his fork, closing his eyes. When he opened them he said quietly, “Honey, I love your mother. I always have and I always will.”

  “Then why can’t you come back home?”

  He bit his lip. “Cory, I can’t expect you to appreciate this, but sometimes two people just reach a point where they can’t live together any more.”

  “Isn’t it worth trying?” I demanded.

  “I did try. I tried for years. I just can’t try any more.”

  That was my father, taking the path of least resistance to his grave. “It’s easier to give up, right?”

  His eyes turned cold. “I am not going to discuss this with someone who isn’t mature enough to grasp it.”

  “Oh, I see. This is another one of those things I’m too young to understand,” I said sarcastically.

  “That’s correct,” he responded crisply. “At seventeen, you are too inexperienced to understand a whole universe of things.” He peered at me closely, taking a sip of water. “Is something else bothering you?”

  “What?” I responded, startled.

  “I get the impression that something else, other than my rift with your mother, is on your mind.”

  So much for my ability to dissemble. He was still my father, after all. “No,” I answered without much conviction.

  He drummed his fingertips on the table. “Cory. Tell me what it is.”

  I shifted in my seat. “I met a guy.”

  He nodded wisely. “I thought so. And?”

  “And I like him a lot. But there’s something . . . odd about him.”

  “Odd?” Dad repeated, raising an eyebrow.

  How could I voice my concern? I hardly knew how to put my vague uneasiness into words.

  “I don’t mean he’s a misfit or anything,” I went on. “It’s just that he really seems to like me but he never asks me to go anywhere. We always meet in the same place, and I’m beginning to wonder if something is wrong.”

  “Like what?”

  I gestured helplessly. “That’s just it; I don’t know. I can’t believe it’s anything bad. I trust him even though I haven’t known him that long.” I folded my napkin listlessly. “Plus I had this dream ...”

  “A nightmare?”

  “No, actually it was a very nice dream. But I woke up outside the house.” I looked up and met his concerned gaze. “I think I may have been sleepwalking again.”

  His mouth became a grim line. “Did you tell Mom about it?”

  “No.”

  He called for the check. “Cory, I don’t like the sound of this. I’m going to talk to your mother about making an appointment for you with Dr. Mayfield.”

  I threw down the napkin, exasperated. “For God’s sake, Dad, I don’t need to see Dr. Mayfield! And I don’t want you to talk to Mom. There will just be another fight.”

  “Cory . . .” he began.

  “I mean it,” I insisted. “You know how she is. She’ll just think you’re implying that she isn’t taking good care of me.”

  He spread his hands. “Then what can I do to help?”

  I pushed back my chair and stood up. “Nothing, Dad. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

  “Wait a minute.” He paid the check, leaving two bills on the table by his place. “I want to hear more about this.”

  We walked together toward the exit. “I don’t know what else to tell you. Maybe it was just an isolated incident,” I went on, “but the sleepwalking puzzled me. It’s been so long since it’s happened.”

  “And it always used to happen when you were upset,” Dad said in a low tone. “I hope I’m not responsible for this.”

  I felt sorry for him. “It isn’t you,” I said. “I probably ate something bad, like Scrooge,” I added, joking.

  He shook his head. “I’m going to give you a list of numbers where you can always reach me,” he stated. “I want you to call me right away if anything like that happens again. Promise me you will, okay?”

  “Okay, Dad.”

  I hoped there would be no reason to make that call.

  I got home about three. I couldn’t adjust to the strangeness of the experience: the man I’d once lived with and seen every day was now a semi-stranger, someone to meet for a chatty lunch like a casual friend.

  My mother pulled her usual “I’m not interested” number and spent the afternoon doing lesson plans. I put the list of numbers Dad had given me in the top drawer of my dresser and lay down on the bed. I was staring at my Police poster, lost in thought, when the phone rang. I rolled over and picked up the receiver on my extension.

  It was Linda, calling to remind me that she and Ken would be by with Brian to pick me up at seven-thirty. She instructed me to wear my new jeans and blue sweater. I expressed a certain lack of enthusiasm for the evening and she told me I was an ungrateful brat. I hung up on her.

  I went back to contemplating Sting’s expressionless features. My one Saturday off from the agency in a month and I had to spend it this way.

  I took a nap.

  I always sleep when I’m depressed.

  * * *

  I suspected that after that dismal lunch with my father things could only go downhill, and I was right. Linda said that my bad attitude made things turn out badly, but Pollyanna could not have made Brian Cranshaw appear in a better light. The feeling of foreboding I’d had all day was borne out fully when I met him.

  He was very good looking. Brian thought so too. In fact, it was soon apparent that Brian was the President and the Recording Secretary of the Brian Cranshaw Fan Club.

  While Ken was driving us to the mall, he told me about his spectacular football career and the scholarship he was going to win to college (Ivy League, of course). While waiting in line for the movie, he told me how he managed to maintain his straight A average despite his punishing schedule of practices and games. It seemed it was all a matter of self discipline, at which, needless to say, he was a master. By the time the lights went down in the theater I was ready to strangle him.

  We watched some witless comedy, which I found decidedly unfunny. Brian nearly fractured his ribs laughing, so either I have no sense of humor or it differs markedly from his. I prefer to think it’s the latter. Sometime during the film he put his arm around me, so I sat forward with my sp
ine ramrod straight. He didn’t seem to mind; he was so convinced of his fatal charm he probably thought I was wearing a back brace.

  Linda could tell that I was less than thrilled with my companion. She’d known me a lot longer than Brian, and also didn’t share his conviction that he was the answer to every maiden’s prayer. When Ken and Brian stopped in one of the arcades to play the video games, she seized her opportunity and pulled me aside.

  “What is the matter with you?” she hissed. “Can’t you even pretend you’re having a good time? You look as though you’re going to a funeral.”

  “I am,” I replied. “Yours.”

  She stared at me in outraged innocence. “What do you mean by that?”

  I turned on her. “I mean that guy is a loser. Did you hear him telling me about his desperate struggle to decide between Karen, the gorgeous blonde, and Louise, the gymnastics champion? That was after he informed me of his generous nature in coming down to Yardley this weekend to do good old cousin Ken a favor. It seems Ken’s girl had a friend who needed cheering up. Brian Wonderful thought himself to be just the person to accomplish that mission. Who could be glum in his stimulating company? Linda, I could kill you.”

  “I can’t believe he told you I arranged this,” she said, defeated.

  “Oh, I knew before he told me, but he wanted to make sure I understood that it was his cousinly devotion that prompted this sacrifice. Poor Karen, poor Louise. Think how lonely they must be without him while he puts up with me in order to do his family duty.”

  “I’m sorry, Cory. I was only trying to help. Ken showed me his picture and he looked cute. I didn’t know it would turn out this way.”

  I couldn’t be angry with her. She had attempted to do me a favor. If she didn’t care about me, she wouldn’t even have tried.

  “It’s all right,” I said wearily. “Just talk to Ken so I can get home as soon as possible, okay?”

  “Okay.”