Residue

by Laury Falter

  Again, they gawked.

  “But…But, I thought you hated each other,” one of the girls insisted.

  “There’s a fine line between love and hate…” I replied just before Mr. Gonzales started his lecture.

  A few astounded chuckles rang out around the room before Mr. Gonzales shushed them and then I was left alone for the remainder of the hour, only having to deal with quick, curious glances.

  I found Jameson at my classroom door when class was over and we again strolled hand-in-hand to our second period, the stares being no less intense, the number of onlookers actually increasing. It seemed as if more of the student body had to witness for themselves the spectacle we were making and specifically sought us out in the hallways. The only ones we didn’t spot were our relatives and I had the feeling they were intentionally veering away.

  In our second class, after we’d sat down, Jameson spun his legs around and faced me as he typically did. The exception this time was that he didn’t bother turning away when other students entered.

  It seemed that even Ms. Wizner had heard because she didn’t attempt to separate us or wear her usual frown of concern when looking in our direction.

  At lunch, we agreed that sitting with either family would be pushing the level of decorum so we chose a corner of the library to eat our lunch. Surrounded by books and sandwich paper wrappings, our hands touched as we talked in hushed voices about how it felt to channel another’s energy and what it felt like to be able to levitate an object.

  When the day was over, he walked me to my car, the magnetism between us so powerful that we prolonged our goodbye. As we leaned against the side of my car, his fingers curled around mine, playing softly with the palm of my hand. Then his crystal green eyes drew me in until our chests touched and our heads tilted back.

  The kiss was slow and gentle, placing his lips on mine without a word. My arms came around his expansive shoulders dragging him against me as he pulled my waist closer to him. His lips moved tenderly across mine, riveting me so deeply that I was only vaguely aware of his fingers gripping the sides of my shirt. As the intensity rose between us, our lips pressed harder, unable to satisfy our craving for each other.

  Only the honk next to us had the power to pull us apart. It came from Charlotte who, it seemed, had intentionally parked next to me. After jolting us from our embrace, she giggled, lifted her shoulders in a shrug, and sped off.

  Jameson’s glare faded as he turned back to me, his eyes brightening as they locked with mine.

  “We’re going to need to leave now or I’m going to keep you here all night. That kiss was…” his voice trailed off as he searched for an accurate description.

  “Was what?” I pressed, curiously.

  A grin came across his handsome face and he chuckled. “Bewitching…”

  “Well that’s appropriate.”

  We shared a laugh as I slid into the driver’s seat and he circled the car for the passenger’s seat, where we headed out for the day’s healing errands.

  The week passed the very same way, with Jameson and me spending every possible minute together. Students and teachers continued to gawk. Jameson’s brothers and sisters did their best to intervene whenever possible. My cousins and I, however, never crossed paths. I never saw them in the halls and always returned home too late for dinner. But I found a plate each night on my nightstand, wrapped to stay warm, and I knew it was Miss Mabelle who’d made the effort to leave it. After trying twice to knock on her door to thank her and getting no answer, I gave up. But I did appreciate the fact she took care of me, everyone in the household for that matter.

  Then Friday came and the first Weatherford I saw that week wasn’t my cousins at all. Aunt Lizzy returned from her trip and was waiting for me when I came in the door.

  The others had gone to sleep or were studying by themselves in their rooms so the house was, once again, silent…and to be honest a little depressing. When Aunt Lizzy called my name from the kitchen I actually jumped.

  “Come here, my dear. We need to talk,” she said and I immediately knew what the topic would be.

  I disdained going into a conversation about whom I was dating so much that I had to remind myself it would be rude to tell her that she has no authority over me. Only my mother could deny me the right to see someone. And I’m not so certain I would listen to her. With these thoughts running through my mind, every muscle in my body had to be coaxed to move toward the kitchen door.

  She was still in her business suit, I noticed while taking a seat at the table. Her usual chaotic energy was different now, more subdued, dispirited. She wasn’t focused on me so much as whatever it was she had cupped her hands over on the edge of the table.

  “You’re home early,” I commented.

  “Oscar called me.”

  I didn’t bother asking why. I already knew the answer.

  “There’s something I should have told you when we first met,” she said quietly. “And I almost did while on the plane. It’s what your cousins wanted to tell you a few nights ago.”

  I remembered that brief interaction when they had argued but finally decided Aunt Lizzy had wanted to relay the news. Apparently, this was the conversation in which she’d deliver it.

  Goose bumps grew on my arms then, the same kind one gets when instinct tells you something bad is going to happen.

  “Jameson Caldwell,” she stated. “You are…” she paused to clear her throat, “seeing him, correct?”

  I lifted my head a little higher. “Yes I am.”

  That was when she loosened her fingers and revealed what she’d been keeping hidden. Its rust-red surface gleamed in the light above the kitchen table like a beacon, or a warning. Even before she slid it across to me, I recognized it as the agate Caldwell family stone.

  “How did you get this?” I asked, stunned, knowing there was no way anyone of them would give it to her.

  Her eyebrows met as she struggled to form the words. “It…It was in your father’s hand at the time of his death.”

  I blinked and jerked my head up. “What? No. No…” Then I was denying it vehemently, already knowing where she was headed with this accusation. Jameson had warned me that I’d be told stories designed to keep us apart. He wasn’t going to listen to them and neither would I.

  “The facts speak for themselves, Jocelyn,” said Aunt Lizzy patiently.

  My head was starting to spin and I felt something in the pit of my stomach, a feeling others had described just before being sick.

  “You don’t expect me to…” I started but couldn’t seem to finish.

  “The stone was left with your father as a message,” she said cautiously, persistently, like a gentle force chipping away at the wall before her.

  “To say what?” My voice was stiff, coming across angry to me. But I wasn’t just angry. There was a maelstrom of emotions running through me, none of which were good.

  “To declare that a Caldwell had been there at the time of his death.”

  I felt my teeth grinding and my breathing quicken, but I had to quell the blending of thoughts in my head before I could deal with my physical reaction.

  Then I was on my feet, looking down at her peaceful countenance. It took me several long seconds before I could utter my next words. “You’re saying…that a Caldwell killed my father.”

  “I’m giving you the facts. You can deduce from them as you wish, as we have all done.”

  She stood then, slowly, and without another word she left the room.

  No…no. It was the only thought I was able to form in my mind. No…

  That couldn’t be the truth. It couldn’t - Because if it were then the Caldwells were responsible for taking my father’s life. And why would this be such a surprise? They’d taken the lives of so many Weatherfords. Why would my father be the exception? He wasn’t. The fact they possessed the Caldwell family stone proved it.

  But there was another truth tapping at my subconscious. My father had died protectin
g me. And he’d died protecting me from a Caldwell. And I was dating a Caldwell.

  As this realization settled over me, I had to hold back the scream building in my throat.

  Finally, I was able to wrap this new reality into one cohesive, disturbing thought: My father had lost his life to protect me from the very family I had become involved in.

  There could be no greater betrayal.

  And in those brief moments, Aunt Lizzy had accomplished what everyone had been striving for since Jameson and I met.

  She divided us.

  16 BREAKUP

  With the Caldwell family stone clenched in my fist, I didn’t bother with a car or my feet. Levitation would be the quickest means of transportation.

  The air was cool tonight. Given that it was October that seemed reasonable. Still, I didn’t pay much attention to the biting chill against my skin as I made my way over the houses. I was on a mission and I wouldn’t be turning back for a simple sweater.

  The Caldwell house had a few windows lit so I knew someone was awake. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if they denied me the chance to see Jameson. I wasn’t even certain if it would be safe. But by this point none of that mattered. I would not be deterred.

  Landing on the doorstep, I took a quick look around and then wished I hadn’t. They appeared so normal. Muddy tennis shoes had been left outside the house. A mat was set outside the door that played off their secret culture with the message “Welcome! Come in and sit for a spell!” Through the windows I saw pictures of the family placed across their mantle.

  Pictures of the family that had killed my father…

  Ringing the doorbell this late at night actually gave me comfort.

  Then I prepared myself for the door to open. If it was Charlotte or Alison, there would be trouble, undoubtedly. If it was any of the other Caldwells, they’d be unlikely to allow me to see Jameson either. If it was Jameson, well…I wasn’t looking forward to that either. Any way I looked at it, this unannounced visit would not be easy.

  From inside, footsteps pattered toward the door and a shadow moved in front of the stained glass window embedded in the door. But when it opened, the person standing on the inside was none of those I’d planned.

  She was short, no higher than my shoulders, with swarthy skin and curious, patient eyes. Large gold hoop earrings dangled through her black braided loops and the dress she wore had a pattern that reminded me of one I’d seen in Africa. She looked like a smaller version of Miss Mabelle, although with much less girth.

  Then, for a moment, the sick, disturbed feeling that had found a home in my stomach since Aunt Lizzy delivered her news ebbed just slightly and I blurted, “Miss Celia?” Then I snapped my mouth shut realizing I’d just admitted that she’d been the topic of a conversation.

  She didn’t appear to mind, being too concentrated on evaluating me.

  “Been lookin’ forward ta meetin’ ya,” she replied, her voice soft and kind.

  “Thank you,” I said hesitantly, figuring Jameson had mentioned me to her. “I’ve…I’ve heard good things said about you.”

  She grinned, reflecting a row of beautiful white teeth, and then stated with humorous sass, “They ain’t nothin’ but good things ta say ‘bout me.”

  Her reply was so unexpected that despite the pain in my gut I actually felt a smile surface. It was weak but it was there.

  “May I see Jameson, ma’am?” I asked before she could make me start to rethink why I’d come.

  She nodded, her eyes closing regally, as she replied, “Surely.” Before she turned away, her hand reached out and took hold of mine, the one still clutching the Caldwell family stone. “Things…” she said. “They ain’t always what they seem.”

  I couldn’t be certain but it appeared as if she knew why I was there.

  With that, she hobbled up the stairs and disappeared for a few minutes. She must have delivered the news that I was waiting downstairs quietly because I didn’t hear doors slamming, raised voices, or pounding footsteps headed for the gun cabinet. Instead, Jameson appeared at the top of the stairs without a sound and silently descended. He maneuvered them as if he were avoiding the ones that creaked, I noticed.

  The sight of him caused a stabbing pain in my abdomen, my muscles clenching, fighting against what I was planning to do. He was thrilled to see me, his eager eyes and lips curved into a smile confirmed it. I, however, was torn in seeing him. The reality that after the next few minutes passed I would no longer be able to laugh with him, learn from him, or touch him gripped my insides and made them churn.

  When Jameson reached me, he didn’t say a word but pulled me along with him to the swing on the front porch, his eyes wide and incredulous. Without releasing my hand, he channeled, “Do you know how risky it is for you to be here?”

  Without answering him, I opened my other palm where the Caldwell family stone was cradled. I almost hesitated, not wanting this to end, this love affair I’d willingly entered. How could someone so generous, so altruistic be part of a family who had killed my father, so many of my relatives? He’d grown up around and been raised by these people and yet there was no sign of their crimes in him. And, here I was, about to punish him for something he didn’t do and had no hand in creating. In the next few minutes I would bring our blissful relationship to a crushing halt because of the simple, pure bottom line: I couldn’t bring myself to betray my father’s dying wish…to keep me safe.

  “What’s that?” he asked, innocently, peering closer in the dim light. Then he blinked and his head jerked slightly as he identified it.

  “I thought you should have it back,” I said, sending the message without speaking.

  “What…How did you get that?”

  “My aunt,” I replied stiffly.

  He lifted his head, confused. “How did she get it?” His tone was not only suspicious but apprehensive, as if he wasn’t certain he wanted to know. He determined as quickly as I had that a Weatherford owning a Caldwell family stone was not encouraging.

  “They found it in my father’s hand.”

  His forehead creased, still perplexed.

  “On the night he died.”

  Then his eyes were on me, intense, alarmed.

  “You think…your family thinks that one…” He stopped and swallowed, hard. “One of my relatives tried to kidnap you?”

  As always, his first reaction was for my well being, I noticed, and again the stabbing pain of guilt and disappointment shook my insides.

  Then he named the other disturbing insinuation, the one that held far more importance. “You think my family killed your father,” he stated, finally understanding the depth of the situation.

  My answer wasn’t in words but it was just as clear. I pulled my fingers away from the grip that he was using to channel our thoughts and gave him back his family stone.

  “Jocelyn…” he said, his voice hitting my ears loudly in the silence of the night. Then he stopped, knowing there was nothing more to say. His prevailing trait – logic - was helping him grasp what I’d already concluded. There was no evidence he could offer to refute the claim. This wasn’t something you could simply apologize for and move on from. This news was life-altering.

  I stood and ended the discussion by speaking my thought aloud. “When I ignore you in class, it’s only to make it easier on us.”

  Then I was walking down the steps, feeling his eyes on my back, fighting the urge to turn and run back to his arms. It was more challenging than anything I’d ever done, testing me to the core of my being.

  That night, I didn’t sleep. I kept my face in my pillow, hiding my sobs from those who might hear me through the thin walls of the old house. I could actually feel my heart breaking, ripping through the muscle as it pulsed on, the pain being so deep I didn’t think I could recover. Then I found the sun filtering into my room and I vaguely understood that it was daylight. Later, voices came underneath my door and a knock rattled it, I think. Day moved into night and the sobs stopped. I’d run o
ut of hydration but I still didn’t move. The next day, the door shook more frequently and with harder intensity, the voices outside it were more feverish.

  “I’m going in,” someone declared. I thought it was Estelle but couldn’t have cared less who said it.

  “No, she might not be ready.” That one was Vinnia. I was certain of it.

  “She’s wasting away in there.” That was Nolan. His deep voice couldn’t be mistaken.

  “Let’s knock again.” Oscar - Always the peacekeeper.

  “Forget that.” Estelle. She followed it with a scoff.

  As the argument continued, I lifted my body until my feet hit the floor. It wasn’t as chilly against the hardwood as I’d expected and only then did I find I still had my shoes on. They scuffed the floor as I made my way across the room.

  “I’m getting Miss Mab-” Spencer was saying as I pulled the door open. He stopped in midsentence to stare at me, along with the rest of my cousins.

  From their faces, it was clear I was a mess.

  “See?” demanded Estelle, her bright purple shirt being the only element standing out to me in this surreal state. Then she lowered her voice to a whisper even though I was less than a foot away. “We should have gone in sooner.”

  I shuffled by them and headed down the stairs. From the sounds behind me, I figured they were following. As I entered the kitchen, Estelle called out supportively, “Good idea! Food!” Then to her brothers and sister she pronounced, “She needs that.”

  When I passed through the kitchen, barely aware of Miss Mabelle sleeping on her stool in the corner, and out to the backyard without stopping for bite I heard Estelle grunt and knew someone had nudged her, insisting that she realize she was wrong.

  Outside, I collapsed on the first step, barely bracing myself against the fall. Gasps came from behind me but they were too far away to have helped balance me anyways.

  “Get Miss Mabelle,” said Vinnia. “Hurry.”

  It wouldn’t matter. Not much did.

  I found what I’d come for, a plant set in a beautiful blue pot. It was well fed, watered, giving the proper sunlight and it showed. Still, I reached out and placed my hand on it.