Outside, pansies and poppies crowded the window box, and when she moved away, Sharon got caught in one of the heavy brocade curtains tied back with gold cord. “This is like an obstacle course in here,” she said as she pushed it aside. Remembering her manners, she added, “But you certainly have beautiful things.”
Pete beamed. “Bella does our decorating.”
There were some nice pieces, Sharon decided, just too many of them. Dangling prisms refracted rainbow stripes across burnished Victorian couches and chests and a patterned carpet, while shepherdesses and porcelain-headed dolls overloaded the china cabinets. If the place had been hers, she’d have disposed of at least half the contents.
“I found this among my mother’s letters not long ago. I’d gone through them before but I hadn’t read them all.” Bella dug through a pile of paper on one of the tables. Hard to imagine how she could find anything in this place. “Here.” She held out a sheet of yellowed paper.
The thin handwriting was so faded that Sharon had to hold the letter under a lamp to read. The plain sheet, without letterhead, was dated April 12, 1965, and addressed to a Mrs. Lake.
“Was Mrs. Lake your mother?” Sharon asked.
Bella nodded. “Her maiden name was Johnson, of course. Read aloud, would you?”
“Certainly,” Sharon said.
“Dear Mrs. Lake,
“I am writing to ask you to drop your attempt to have Bradley Johnson’s body moved to our church cemetery. He does not belong there, and Pastor Arbizo agrees with me.
“While I respect your loyalty to your brother, he has done grievous injury to me and to my late fiancée. You cannot expect me to consent to this travesty.
“Let the poor woman enjoy in death the peace she never found in this life, thanks to your brother.
“Sincerely,
Grayson Wright.”
Sharon stopped at the unfamiliar name. “Who’s Grayson Wright?”
“The man Susan’s parents arranged for her to marry,” Pete said.
“We didn’t understand why my mother wanted to have Bradley re-interred, until you told us today about the cemetery,” Bella said.
“We’d always wondered where he was buried,” noted her husband. “We wanted to take flowers and make sure the grave was cared for, but we couldn’t find any record of where it was.”
“I wonder where he ended up,” Sharon said.
“I assume Mother found another cemetery,” Bella said. “The caretakers must have collected the body and forgotten to notify the authorities.”
At least now she had a name to put to the shadowy figure of the fiancé, Sharon thought. That might open up other possibilities for her inquiries. “I wonder if Grayson Wright is still alive.”
“I told you matters were coming to a head,” Bella intoned, returning to her melodramatic posing.
“What she means is, we came across a reference to him by chance.” Pete opened a drawer and handed Sharon a newspaper clipping dated shortly before Christmas. The photo featured a group of elderly people, most in wheelchairs, applauding three little girls in tutus. The caption read, “Young Dancers Make Holiday Friends.”
The old folks, she saw when she read further, were residents of a convalescent home in Fullerton. One man, identified as Grayson Wright, had his head turned away so she couldn’t see his face.
A chill ran up Sharon’s spine at the coincidence that the article had run so recently. She felt as if she were being guided to meet this man. Or pushed.
She wasn’t in the mood for any more pressure. First Jody had insisted on taking Greg to Disneyland—well, it wasn’t her fault Sharon had felt compelled to agree, but then the Gaskells had invaded her apartment and lured her in here. Now someone or something seemed to be setting her up to talk to Grayson Wright.
What was she going to do, walk into that old age home looking like his dead fiancée and give the poor man a heart attack? She had no business bothering him.
“Bradley wants you to go.” Bella spoke in a flat tone. “That’s why he showed this to us.”
“Oh, please!” Sharon objected. “This has gone too far.”
The woman stared at the wall. “He’s here. He’s suffering. Why can’t you feel his pain?”
The possibility that this woman might not merely be eccentric struck Sharon. If Bella saw things that weren’t there, she might suffer from mental illness.
“If Bradley wants to tell me something, I’m sure he’d make an announcement on my TV screen.” She returned the clipping. “Thanks, but I think I’ll leave this poor old man alone.”
Bella started to protest. Pete hushed her with a gesture. “If something’s meant to happen, it will,” he said.
Sharon excused herself and walked out. With her delusions about possessing psychic powers, Bella might be able to function indefinitely in this protected setting, Sharon supposed. But she couldn’t help wondering how stable the woman’s mind was.
Thunder rumbled as she went downstairs. This weather, this house and these peculiar neighbors were giving her the creeps.
In the kitchen, Sharon set to work making tortilla pizzas in the microwave. The dish was one of Greg’s favorites, and easy to assemble in small quantities, with pizza sauce, mozzarella, pepperoni and Parmesan layered atop crisped tortillas. She also tossed a salad to share with Jody and anyone else who might drop by. Anyone else meaning Ian, she admitted silently.
She checked her watch. After six. She hoped Jody wasn’t running late.
With relief, she heard the front door open. “Greg?” she called, emerging into the living room.
Ian blew in with a garment bag draped over his shoulder and some packages under one arm. Damp hair clung to his temples and droplets sparkled on his eyelashes. “He isn’t missing, is he?”
“No.” Sharon switched on a lamp against the gathering gloom. “He and Jody went to Disneyland. I’ve got dinner almost ready. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thanks,” he said. “You sounded worried. Are you sure everything’s all right?”
She did feel on edge. “It’s the Gaskells.” On the verge of sharing her discomfort about Bella’s weirdness, she realized he might think her comment applied to him as well. His seizures weren’t in the same category as Bella’s delusions, as far as Sharon was concerned, but she didn’t know how to explain the difference, even to herself. “The storm isn’t helping either,” she concluded lamely. “Although you’d think I’d be used to bad weather after living in Buffalo.”
Among the delicate furniture of the living room, Ian’s brawny frame seemed larger than life. “Are you sure going out tonight with your sister is a good idea? If we get a downpour, driving might not be safe, particularly when you’re so nervous.”
“I’ll be all right,” Sharon said, a little too quickly. “Karly has a rehearsal tomorrow with the choir. She has to go over the songs tonight.”
“All right.” Ian tossed the garment bag on the sofa and unzipped it. “I picked up your costume. The forecast still calls for clearing tomorrow.”
Sharon fingered the long Edwardian dress with an embellished jacket and slim skirt. “Where did you get this?”
“From a costume shop I’ve used before. “Producing a box, he removed a flat-crowned hat and a parasol. “They’re probably not historically authentic, but they’re close enough.” In the lamplight, his smile flashed as Sharon held up the dress. “It suits you.”
“I think it’ll fit,” she said. “How did you guess my size?”
“I’m a good judge of dimensions,” Ian said. “Also, there’s adjustable Velcro in the back.”
“Isn’t that cheating?”
“Only if you’re a real Victorian.” He settled the hat atop her hair and fluffed out the long strands that fell to her shoulders. The brush of his fingers tingled across Sharon’s skin.
“This painting sounds so sedate. It’s not like you,” she told him.
“I’m sure there’ll be a surrealistic element in the work,”
Ian said. “I just don’t know what it is yet. Well, enough about me. Tell me what you did today.”
She’d missed the casual intimacy of sharing the day’s events with a man, Sharon realized as she removed the hat and perched on a chair. That was one of the appealing things about Ian, that when he wasn’t glowering or filling the room with his unrestrained sexual energy, he could also be a friend.
Sharon detailed her visit to the school and discovery of the Gaskells in her apartment. That led to the revelation that Grayson Wright was alive. Ian agreed with her decision not to disturb the elderly man.
“Sometimes it’s best to leave well enough alone,” he said. “Jody’s put the whole thing behind her, and she’s doing better than any of us.”
They chatted for a few more minutes before they heard the front door creak open. Greg’s voice called, “Mom? Is dinner ready? What’re we having?”
“Good heavens, child, didn’t you eat enough food today?” grumbled Jody, hoarse with weariness.
“That was hours ago!” Greg led the way into the living room. “I’m starved.”
“Tortilla pizzas, coming up.” Sharon rose to greet her landlady. “You must be exhausted.”
“Oh, poo.” Jody unbuttoned her jacket and hung her umbrella on a hat rack. “Today was a delight, but I am worn to a frazzle, let me tell you.”
They downed their dinner in a companionable buzz. Afterwards, Sharon insisted that Jody relax while she cleared the table. Ian joined her at the sink, running hot water and plunging into dishwashing. She never would have pictured him acting so domestic, with his almost sinister scar and sharp features.
“You know,” he said, “this feels right, having you here.”
“To me, too,” she said.
“This house was too quiet without a child.” He glanced toward Greg. “Your husband must have been thrilled to have a son. Do you mind my mentioning him?”
“Not at all.”
“I know you’re widowed, but…” He let the words trail off.
“He had a heart attack,” she said. “Unfortunately, he couldn’t kick the smoking habit, although he didn’t smoke in the house after I got pregnant with Greg.”
Ian dried a dish and handed it to her to put in the cabinet. “What kind of work did he do?”
“Civil engineering. He worked on projects for a large company.” He’d had to spend weeks or, in a few cases, months away from home. Although Sharon had offered to accompany him, he hadn’t wanted to uproot her and Greg, especially since the longer trips took him to sites in the Middle East and Africa.
Every time he returned, there’d been a period of adjustment, mostly because Sharon and the little boy had changed. Jim stayed pretty much the same—down-to-earth, a bit impatient but kind-hearted. He was always working on his golf game and willing to accompany Sharon to the theater or the ballet, where he sometimes fell asleep.
“Did you want more children?” Ian asked.
She took a deep breath before tackling the painful subject. “I had trouble getting pregnant again. The doctor suggested Jim and I undergo testing, but we’d seen how fertility treatments took over some of our friends’ lives, strained their marriages and drained their finances. Jim said once we got hooked into the system, we’d never know when to quit. I agreed that wasn’t fair to Greg, so we decided to let nature take its course. Unfortunately, that course didn’t lead anywhere.”
“I’m sorry.” He kept his voice low.
“Being left alone with a school-age child was hard enough. I don’t know how I’d have coped if I’d had a baby,” Sharon admitted.
Outside, rain gusted against the window. “I’d like to drive you and Greg tonight,” Ian said.
“That isn’t necessary.”
“Not just because of the rain,” he said. “The church is fairly isolated and you may come home late. There’s nothing like taking along your own policeman.”
“I second the motion,” Jody said from where she sat. “Fullerton’s fairly safe but no place is perfect.”
Months of shouldering all her responsibilities herself had conditioned Sharon to refuse. But she would enjoy Ian’s company, and appreciated the generous offer. “I’d like that,” she said.
She sent Greg upstairs to fetch a jacket and some toys. “We’ll take my car,” Ian said. “I’ve got new tires and I just had some work done on my brakes.” He stopped, a puzzled expression flickering across his face.
“What?” Sharon asked.
“I don’t know.” He gave an embarrassed shrug. “I caught a shred of memory, but now it’s gone. Nothing important, I’m sure.”
“Sounds like something you dreamed,” Jody observed tartly. “Women dream about two things—men and children. Men dream about cars and sports.”
“I’ve never been much of a sports fan,” Ian said. “I do like cars, though.”
Greg raced in with an armload of toys, and Sharon had to help him narrow his choice to a few favorites. After collecting the sheet music and her coat, she said goodnight to Jody.
“Don’t worry about waking me when you come in,” she said. “I’ll be safe in the arms of Morpheus.”
“Who’s he?” Greg asked.
“An old friend,” Jody replied. “The Roman god of dreams. He’s the only boyfriend I’ve got left.”
The edge to her voice didn’t match the good-humored words. Hearing more thunder outside, Sharon wondered if her landlady was remembering a rainy night some thirty years ago, the night Ian’s parents went out and never came home.
“Sleep well.” Ian kissed his great-aunt’s cheek. “You’re a dear, you really are.”
Jody patted his shoulder. “Don’t try to butter me up. I see right through you.”
“I’m sure you do,” he said, and hugged her gently.
Karly had been hoping Frank would come home early tonight, even though she knew he was working against a deadline. Also, since she’d made arrangements with Mrs. Torres to care for Lisa and Greg, why should he hurry? But she would feel safer with him at home, and she wanted him to bond more tightly with his daughter.
Tossing her frozen dinner carton into the trash, Karly scooped Lisa from the crib and sat down to nurse her. She hated to leave this little doll with a sitter, even one as trustworthy as Mrs. Torres.
Outside, thunder rumbled. Trying not to think about the rainy drive she and her sister faced, she unbuttoned her blouse and unsnapped the nursing bra. As the baby’s mouth closed over her breast, Karly gazed at the tiny fingers playing against her skin. A wave of tenderness seized her, an absolute love for this infant.
Yet, by the time Lisa finished, Karly could feel excitement building for the evening ahead. She couldn’t wait to fill the church with her voice.
As she checked the diaper bag, she decided she was glad Frank hadn’t come home yet. He would have complained about eating a frozen dinner, grumbled about the weather and done his best to make her feel guilty about going out. Just thinking about it made her angry.
The doorbell rang, and she hurried to greet her sister.
The night was cold and the rain heavy by the time they set out, the three of them in Ian’s car. Sharon was glad he’d offered to drive. Even with Karly along, she felt as if they were charting their way across an unknown sea.
To break the silence, she talked about her plan to model for Ian tomorrow. “I guess Greg will be all right in the house by himself. I think he’s spending too much time with Jody.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Karly said. “I’m taking Lisa to a girlfriend’s house in the afternoon. She has a baby and a five-year-old who’s mature for his age. He’s got a new set of action figures I’ll bet Greg would enjoy. I don’t mind picking him up.”
“He’d love that, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. I’d like to get to know my nephew better, and I’d like to show my thanks for your helping me out tonight.”
Sharon felt better as they reached the church. One new friend, coming up. No do
ubt Greg would have a busy social schedule before long.
They parked, alone in the lot, and ran across the blacktop under umbrellas. Karly unlocked a side door with a key the minister had provided. When they entered, the sanctuary lay in gloom accentuated by a couple of safety lights low on the walls. Darkness pooled across the pews.
Sharon could hear the wind whistling through an unseen space overhead. In the car, with the noise of the engine, she hadn’t been so aware of the storm, but now she heard branches smacking the roof.
“I can’t find the light switch,” Karly called from across the chamber. “You know, that’s one thing I forgot to notice.”
“I’ll get a flashlight from the car,” Ian called.
The prospect of being left alone here, just the two women, somehow frightened Sharon. On the point of asking him not to go, she clamped her mouth shut.
She was getting as bad as the Gaskells, letting her imagination run away with her. She’d better get a grip before she ended up as crazy as Bella.
A blast of rain against Ian’s face brought him sharply alive. He loved the night in all its raw vigor. When he was alone like this, the darkness flowed through him like an electric current.
He’d first had this sensation while on patrol as a police officer, prowling through the deep silences while people slept, driving down dimly lighted streets past dozing houses. The stillness hadn’t depressed him; it had exhilarated him.
As he unlocked the car and took the flashlight from the glove compartment, Ian acknowledged a feeling else stirring inside him. An awareness of something approaching, as if the storm held special meaning.
Only a few days remained until the anniversary. His medication couldn’t entirely dull him to that fact.
There was, he conceded, something that dwelled within him or could enter his body that did not belong to Ian Fanning. At least, not to the Ian Fanning he knew, although surely it must be part of him at some level. Even now, he felt his mind venturing beyond his body. He wasn’t having a seizure, and yet for this moment he lived in a world heightened by special perceptions.
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