Haunted Honeymoon

by Marta Acosta

  His storm-cloud gray eyes portended nothing at the moment. He raised his eyebrows and said to Lily, “Is this part of your therapy?”

  “I, uh,” she began.

  “It is part of the therapy, Oswald, taking me on the same emotional journey in order to build a framework for my memories, right, Lily?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I read about it in the Nordic Journal of Psychiatry.”

  “Oh,” Oswald said, taken aback. “I’m sorry for interrupting then. I thought we could have cocktails in about a half hour on the terrace. My grandmother is trying out new recipes.”

  Lily said, “Wonderful. We’ll see you then.”

  When he nodded and went inside, I laughed and Lily said, “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “I can’t believe you went along with it.”

  “Only because I’m open to any theory right now. If you can connect with the feelings you had for Oswald, you might trigger memories. But think about him, the whole person, not just his body.”

  “I’ll try, but that body is utterly captivating, don’t you think so?”

  She smiled a little slyly. “It’s not my role to disagree with your opinions, Milagro.”

  I changed into a clean set of the boring clothes and was putting my hair into a scrunchie from hell when there was a knock on my door.

  “Enter.”

  The door opened and I saw an adorable man with red-gold hair, black slacks, an ecru button-down shirt, and eyes the same pellucid pond-green as Mrs. Grant’s.

  “Hi,” I said, lowering my voice for maximum flirt effect.

  “Hi, honey,” he said. “It’s me, Gabriel. We spoke on the phone this morning. You look as if you’re leading a revolt against good taste.”

  “It’s part of my therapy, like no skin contact.”

  “Good luck with that.” He dropped into the old green armchair beside the desk. “We checked your apartment and found a million fingerprints and more body fluids than I want to think about.”

  “I probably had parties,” I said. “You know how people get.”

  “Actually, I do,” he said, and grinned. “We’ve tracked your activities on the day Wilcox arrived. You left a debit card trail all the way into the late evening. We also found Wilcox’s rented car in the visitors’ parking area of your garage. There was blood in the trunk.”

  “Does that clear me or implicate me further?”

  “The timeline seems to clear you, but it’s not conclusive. I’ve given a report to the Council and there’s not much they can do without a body.”

  “Mrs. Grant scoffed at me when I asked if ‘family’ means mob. What kind of family hires forensics experts?”

  Gabriel smiled, showing delightful dimples. “We’ve found it useful to support each other’s businesses and careers. We’re more like a cultural group.”

  “Except that ‘cultural group’ sounds more like potlucks and clog dancing than sexy Titian-haired security managers,” I said. “I suppose I know all about this.”

  “Yes, you met with the Council when you were going to marry Oswald,” he said. “Now, if you don’t regain your memory …”

  “But I will. I’m not going to toss away two years of my life because, ooh, I can’t face reality. I’m willing to do the hard work of wearing my big-girl granny panties.”

  “You in big granny panties, how hot!”

  “You’d know if you gave me a full-body search.” When he stopped laughing I said, “I’m also not supposed to flirt even though I’m guessing you don’t swing my way.”

  “If I swung your way, I’d swing your way,” he said, and winked.

  “Hey, that’s something I say!”

  “Who do you think I got it from? All right, no flirting, but I’ll pass along a pointer I learned from a waitress. The higher the ponytail, the bigger the tip.”

  “You have earned my respect forever.” I pulled out my scrunchie and gathered my hair into a high ponytail. “Now let’s have a drink.”

  The sun was low in the sky, just edging behind the mountains, and the sky was deepening to indigo. Lily sat in one of the teak chairs beside AG. Mrs. Grant was mixing a shaker of cocktails, and Oswald set a platter of antipasto on a table.

  “Sit by me, Young Lady,” Gabriel said, as he took a chair on one side.

  I looked at him and said, “Why does everyone call me that?”

  The others looked at Mrs. Grant, who said, “Because I’ve always hoped you’d act like one.”

  “Ha, ha, and ha,” I said. “What are we drinking?”

  “Pink cellos from my homemade limoncello, vodka, and cranberry juice.” Mrs. Grant poured out the drinks in martini glasses.

  I took a sip of the tangy, fruity drink, and AG turned to Gabriel. “How is Charlie’s hotel search going?”

  “He’s still looking in foggy towns for a place he can remodel into a boutique hotel for family members.”

  “Do you want the responsibility of a hotel?” Oswald asked. He leaned back against a pillar facing us and I admired his shoulder-to-hip proportions.

  “It’s Charlie’s dream,” the redheaded man said. “I can’t complain about him taking a time-consuming project when I’m gone so much.”

  I was thinking that the vista was so beautiful and that it was such a treat to enjoy the evening with companions, to share this relaxed time, this spirit of camaraderie, when Oswald said to his cousin, “You’re lucky that you’ve got a partner who has his own interests to pursue instead of someone so bored that she … I mean, um, you’re lucky he’s got a career.”

  In the silence that followed, I deduced that Oswald’s comment was a reference to me. I put down my drink and said, “Excuse me, but I’m feeling worn out. I think I’ll go rest.”

  I felt their eyes on me as I left, and Gabriel whispered, “Oswald!”

  Even though I didn’t know Oswald, I was hurt and very confused. How could I have been bored, when I’d always had so many things to do? I’d reached the door to the maid’s room when my ex-fiancé caught up to me. He took my arm and turned me to face him.

  His eyes were the same hue as the scarf I’d been making. I must have been making it for him even though we’d broken up.

  “Milagro, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I have a history of screwing up relationships and clearly something went wrong between us. You didn’t ask for me to come here, didn’t want me to stay, and it’s good of you to take me in now when you don’t have to.”

  “That doesn’t excuse my behavior.” He touched my exposed wrist, sending a zizz through me. “I was the one who brought you into my life and my problematic family. I gave you the condition. I’m responsible for you.”

  I looked up into Oswald’s clear gray eyes. “Did you love me, Oswald?”

  He hesitated and then said, “Yes, even though you drove me crazy. You still drive me crazy.”

  “So why did we break up?”

  “We took missteps and every time we tried to fix them, others interfered.” He ran his fingers up my sleeve and along my arm, making me want to lean into his touch. “Both of us made mistakes, but if we had just gone ahead and gotten married, this never would have happened to you.”

  “And how was it when we made love?”

  “Amazing,” he said. “I remember the last time. We were in the City and we’d registered for wedding gifts. Then I’d done some consults. I came back to our hotel suite and you were wearing a white plastic miniskirt,” he said, and smiled.

  I smiled, too. “That sounds very glamorous.”

  “We were going to go out, but we stayed in and spent the night making love. If I had known it would be the last time …,” he said. “Oh, Milagro, I’ve missed you so much.”

  He was serious and sincere, an irresistible combination in a fabulous man, so I didn’t even try to resist. I put my arms around him and his lips went to mine. Delicious sensations rippled through my body, and I thought of the magical kiss that awakens a sleeping princess and the m
agical kiss that transforms a frog.

  Oswald pushed me through the doorway into the room and kicked the door shut behind us.

  Each taste of his tongue sent all sorts of happy signals along my synapses. Maybe my memory could be recovered by a different magical act. I pressed myself against him, wrapping my leg around his, and then someone rapped on the door.

  Oswald took his mouth from mine.

  “In a minute,” he called out. To me, he whispered, “You always do this to me.” He went to face the window, blowing out his breath and adjusting himself in his jeans.

  Through the door, Lily said, “Please don’t do anything detrimental to the healing process.”

  Oswald said, “We’ll be out in a minute.”

  After a few seconds, we heard her walk away.

  He said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that when you’re not well.”

  “I liked it, Oswald. I like you.”

  “When you get your memory back, you may not feel the same way about me.”

  I thought of the scarf I had found in my bag and I thought of how I’d come here when I was in trouble. “Can’t we start over? If we loved each other once … unless you’re involved with someone else.”

  He gazed out the window for a long time and said, “There’s been no one else for me since you left.”

  “So maybe …”

  “Maybe. Let’s go back out.” He came to me and stroked his finger along my throat. “I think you came back to me for a reason.”

  “I think so, too.”

  When we returned to the terrace, everyone acted as if nothing had happened, but Oswald sat by my side and I kept glancing at him.

  I had amnesia, but I also had a second chance with exactly the sort of man I’d always wanted—someone worthwhile, a human version of a substantial, hardback book, instead of the guys I usually dated, paperback beach reads that could be left on the bus for the next bored and aimless girl.

  thirteen

  Once Bitten, Twice Snide

  After dinner, AG and Mrs. Grant went to watch a movie in her cottage, and Oswald and Gabriel went to the study to talk.

  Lily said to me, “I’ve got to make phone calls. Will you be all right on your own?”

  “I’m fine. I can work on my project.”

  “The memoir?”

  “From what I can tell from my notes, it’s entirely fabricated. I’m thinking that it’s more of a fakeoir, or maybe a fabrimento. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  After I’d zipped out a chapter, I felt the need to stretch my muscles. I changed into sneakers and a T-shirt and went outside.

  I looked up, astonished at the canopy of bright stars. I’d never seen so many in my life. I began moving slowly, testing myself, but after I’d reached the edge of the field, I broke into a jog, and soon I began to run.

  I avoided the area where Mrs. Grant had pointed out a pond and circled the property. With my improved vision, I saw a luminescent outline on small critters and insects. A coyote yipped in the distance.

  The air was crisp and fresh in my lungs, and I felt so strong that I went around two more times.

  As I faced the house, I saw the lights on upstairs, and a light glowed from the downstairs study. I walked quietly and stood to one side of the window where I could peer in.

  Oswald and Gabriel listened as a man’s voice came over the speakerphone. The man said, “Wilcox’s parents are demanding an immediate Council investigation and you know what that means.”

  Gabriel said, “Sam, she doesn’t remember anything, and we know Milagro. She didn’t kill Wilcox, or anyone.”

  The caller said, “Don’t you wonder, Gabe? She’s definitely capable of violence, and she’s not always in control of her emotions.”

  Oswald said, “She’s not the only one capable of violence.”

  I was so preoccupied with these aspersions on my character that I didn’t notice the fuzzy young possum ambling toward me until it was on my foot.

  “Shoo!” I hissed, trying to get it to move away. “Go!”

  Oswald said, “Sam, you didn’t see her when she came here. She looked worse than when she was fighting the first infection, and that almost killed her. Do everything you can to buy time so she has a chance to recover.”

  The possum snuffled at my ankle, and I caught only a few words of what Gabriel said, something about “as a Council director, he has the responsibility and right to interview her no matter what you think of him.”

  I waved my hands in front of the stupid possum’s face and it fell over and feigned death on my other foot. By the time I’d edged my shoe out from under the creature, Oswald was saying angrily, “Fine, but the only way I’ll have him here is if he agrees to my conditions. It’s still my house and she’s still … what is that smell? Skunk?”

  I ducked into the bushes as Oswald came to the window, shut it, and closed the drapes.

  The next day, Monday, I got up early and found Oswald in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and a pale blue shirt, and his hair was brushed back.

  No one was around so I went to his and leaned against him. After a moment he kissed me softly, his mouth tasting of toothpaste.

  “Mmm, minty. What does the rest of you taste like?”

  He laughed and pushed me away. “Not now, Mil. I’ve got to go to work.”

  I took his coffee cup and took a sip. “So you’re a plastic surgeon. Why did you decide to do that?”

  “You always had a problem with my career because of your mother’s plastic surgery. I always had a problem with your lack of a career.”

  “I’m a writer and a gardener. That’s two careers. Back to my question.”

  “Okay, I’m fascinated by the structure of the human body. Muscles, tissue, skin, bone, blood vessels. I’m not going to go into this when you could get your memory back and recall all of our previous discussions.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “Maybe later tonight we can have an in-depth talk.” I smiled and tipped my head to make my ponytail swing.

  “Morning!”

  I turned to see Lily. She looked younger and sexier in a pair of jeans and a stretchy teal T-shirt.

  I handed back Oswald’s coffee cup and we both said good morning to her. “Lily, if you’re all part of an extended non-Mafia family, how come you haven’t met Oswald before?”

  They looked at each other quizzically. She said, “Good question. I was signed up on the dating registry, but they matched me with one of the Van Burens. I went out with him for six months and decided I’d rather die a spinster, so I pulled my name off.”

  I tried to puzzle this through. “Your family has a dating service? I think I’m a little squicked out.”

  “It’s the equivalent of dating someone from a neighboring town,” Lily said, “but we can meet people who share our condition and values.”

  Oswald smiled. “Actually, Lily, I think we met at one of the Council’s career retreats when we were in sixth grade. I remember a very intense, pretty, curly-haired girl who spent a lot of time disputing Freudian theory.”

  She laughed and said, “That was me! Who were you?”

  “I was the skinny little kid trying to impress you by talking about the endocrine system. You told me that you thought I had narcissistic personality disorder.”

  “You were that pest! I noticed you at that big millennium party in Quebec.”

  Oswald’s nice brows knit together as he stared at Lily. “I would have remembered you.”

  She shrugged. “I’d cut off all my hair because I wanted to be taken seriously. You were running with the fast crowd, that fashionista Cornelia … um, a different crowd.”

  “I’ve settled down since then.”

  “So I’ve noticed,” Lily said.

  After Oswald left to go to his office, and Gabriel joined us for coffee.

  When Lily wasn’t looking, he flipped my ponytail, then said, “Lily, we’re trying to stall the Council before they question Mila
gro … or take further action, but they’re under pressure from Wilcox’s family. I don’t know how many days we have.”

  “What? You can’t put a deadline on a recovery.” Lily’s forehead furrowing in irritation. “I’ve got a week of vacation left, and I planned to help transition Milagro to another therapist.”

  “Maybe we could just figure it all out ourselves,” I said. “I can help. I can go undercover in a blond wig.”

  “No,” Gabriel and Lily said together.

  So after breakfast, I had another session with Lily. She wanted to talk about my grandmother, and I found myself happily reminiscing about my small abuelita and her affectionate embraces, her sweet smile.

  “I still miss her, and I wonder what she’d think of the person I am now,” I said. “She wanted me to be happy.”

  “What do you think would make you happy, Milagro?”

  “Not what, but who. I saw a photo of Oswald and me and we were happy.”

  Lily scribbled on her notepad, then said, “You can’t look to others for emotional fulfillment, Milagro.”

  “Lily, if others can make you unhappy, it seems to reason that the opposite should also be true.”

  After lunch, when I suggested having our session outside again, Lily agreed, but once we were working, she asked me to talk about my father.

  “There’s not much to tell. He started with one pickup and some old tools and built up a good landscaping business doing corporate campuses,” I said. “His name is Ray and his slogan, ‘Let Ray D-light you with a perfect new lawn,’ was on all the trucks.”

  “Would he be proud of this garden?”

  “Oh, no. He likes manicured lawns and uniform borders of shrubs. He always made sure that he imposed order and symmetry on nature.”

  “Why did your mother marry your father?”

  “He’s handsome and a hard worker,” I said. “He devoted himself to providing for her.”

  “So he’s a hardworking man who likes order and strict aesthetic standards, and lives with a dominant female,” Lily said. “Are you making any connections?”

  “You’re the professional. You tell me.”