by Jessie Olson
“I can take a train,” Lizzie hadn’t decided if she was going back to Jefferson Park or Ben’s empty apartment.
“There are strange creatures walking about,” he winked. “Let me take the train with you.”
“Why did she fall for one of her sources?”
“Why? I can’t tell you why, Lizzie.”
“How long were you together?”
“Ten years.”
“That’s not too long.”
“No.”
“Did you want it to end?”
“No.”
“Then why…”
“I think my obsession with work had something to do with it. Alison wanted to take advantage of her perpetual youth. A number of her friends have children and are getting gray hairs… I imagine a part of her wanted to get away from that. She is still new to this.”
“Is she still in California?”
“No, she is in Japan with her lover.”
“Oh.”
“I will see her again. We still own a house together. I don’t… forever is also too long to condemn to never.”
“Mmm,” Lizzie started a quick walk towards the T station. She still wasn’t certain where she was going to get off. She had to move. She didn’t want to pause long enough to think about another readjustment to her reality.
She walked quickly down the steps into the terminal. Oliver was like a shadow behind her. She couldn’t hear his steps, but felt his company. She paused to look down the dark tunnel, as if that would hasten the arrival of the train. There was nothing but the long echo of darkness. There were a handful of other expectant passengers, but not a large enough crowd to allow herself the silence of not thinking of what to say.
“Why did you marry her?”
“I loved her.”
“Ben says you fall in love easily.”
Oliver laughed lightly as the fume ridden air ruffled through the tunnel. “I suppose I do.”
The echo of the approaching train whispered like a ghost. “I am very reluctant.”
“Why?”
“Because… it …” Lizzie faded as her purse slid off her shoulder. She readjusted her arm to put it back in place as the wind of the tunnel increased and the train approached. She looked back and saw Oliver’s dark eyes watching her. She smiled briefly and nodded her head towards the train. She took a small step forward as the doors opened, following the other passengers. Oliver suddenly reached for her hand and pulled her towards him. She heard the bell warning the close of the doors as he pressed his lips to hers. She felt an instinct to push him away but forgot it as she lost awareness of the station and the train pulling away. She dropped her purse and abandoned all sense of time and place. She only felt his warm, passionate kiss. It was familiar and comfortable. She thought of his hesitant hands by the side of the carriage house. He was no longer tentative. His kiss thrilled her and made her want more. She didn’t want to pull away even though she knew there was something she should remember about why she shouldn’t stay so close to him, why she shouldn’t let him indulge that intimacy. No, he was always hers. No matter what other choice she made. No matter how many lovers he had. How many vampires he made. Oliver was always hers.
Another train thundered into the station. A large noisy crowd left the train and pulled Lizzie back to awareness. She let go of Oliver and picked up her purse. “I should… get on this train,” she said quickly. Oliver put his hand at the lower part of her back. “No. Don’t come with me,” she walked to the open doors. She regretted her harshness and turned quickly. “Have fun in New York.” She got on the train just as the doors slid shut. She saw his dark eyes watch her as the train started to move. They looked confused and sad, just like her own.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lizzie stared out the window across the yards of the neighboring houses on Brattle Street. She didn’t know which belonged to the Harris family two hundred years ago. Most were likely built long after the Harris family left Brattle Street. There was no carriage house attached to any of them, not even as a converted garage. It was entirely possible the carriage house and the Harris homestead were no longer.
“What is this room?” one of the visitors called Lizzie back to the present.
She shook herself out of her reverie. “This is the guest room,” Lizzie said with the monotone effort she produced for most of her tour. Her rhythm was off. She knew she wasn’t interesting and that she was making her three members and two student guests bored with her relation of elementary facts. “The four poster bed is made of mahogany and was purchased by Margaret Fulton in 1811,” Lizzie was losing interest in herself as she stared at the bed and felt the sensation of Oliver’s kiss. She smiled again and tried to put some more intonation in her explanation of the London expatriate who crafted the wood posts. She was glad when she filled her three minutes in the room, neglecting to mention any of the guests who actually used it, and was able to take the tour back down the stairs to the gift shop.
She was glad Paula and Andrew were locked in a conversation about some reality show. Lizzie had little inclination to be social for most of the day. She almost made the phone call that morning to Paula saying she felt ill. She realized she didn’t want to be stuck at Ben’s apartment, or even worse, her own. She knew the idleness and solitude would allow her head to fill with the question she wasn’t ready to answer. She didn’t want to think about Oliver and his kiss, even though it returned to her mind every other silent moment. It was one thing to remember the sensation. It was another thing to think why she kissed him back.
She hoped there would be a phone call from Ben, or even a message to tell her he was thinking of her. Anything to prove she was on his mind, even if it only made her feel guilty. She wanted to feel guilty, anything to stop her from wanting… from wanting it to happen again.
“Lizzie, you will be here Thanksgiving weekend, right?” Paula asked her suddenly.
“Mm hm,” Lizzie reached for her water bottle.
“I’m going to New Jersey for the holiday,” Paula explained. “Andrew can only work in the morning. It will probably be you and Donna to close the house.”
“Okay,” Lizzie tried to focus her thoughts on Thanksgiving and Ben. Maybe she could convince Ben to come to the house. She wasn’t sure why the absence of Paula and Andrew would suddenly make it more appealing… but maybe… She had plans for Thanksgiving. She was determined to keep them. She wasn’t going to let a few moments after three beers change her mind. Once Ben was back she would forget everything. She missed him. She missed having him to talk to, to hold her close, to be at her side… to take her blood.
“Is that okay with you Lizzie?” Andrew asked as though he repeated himself.
“What?”
“That if things aren’t too busy I leave an hour earlier that day?”
“Yeah, sure,” Lizzie answered with little concern.
“I might bring my mother here,” Andrew explained. “But I know she would like the afternoon to do some more shopping.”
“Of course,” Lizzie managed a smile.
“You must be excited for her visit,” Paula offered when Lizzie decided to focus on the sign in book. She couldn’t read the names and addresses scrawled over the lines, but it was a preferable pretense to avoid listening to Andrew’s trivial details.
Lizzie sat at the reception table and looked for something to distract her mind. She picked up a volume of The Fulton Family Legacy. It was open to a chapter about the family’s involvement in politics at the end of the 20th century. Lizzie flipped back to the introductory chapters about the earlier Fultons. She already knew Margaret and John were crammed into a scant twenty pages. There were portraits of both of them, as well as one of John Fulton’s son from his first marriage, Horace. Lizzie looked closer at the grayscale copy of the portrait.
He wasn’t smiling. The bulk of his cravat diminished any suggestion of a neck and made his head look disproportionately large compared to the rest of his body. He had dark eyes �
�� or so they seemed in the black and white copy – that had very little white in the irises. His hair was shortly cropped, but showed the subtle hint of a curl with the two or three strands captured on his forehead. He had tiny ears and a long narrow nose. She saw the resemblance to his father. She supposed he could be handsome, especially if the contour of his muscle was poorly rendered by the portraitist. She wasn’t sure why she thought it might be… except that… well of course it was. It was just a painting. A painting of a man long since turned to dust. Had she once… really… was he really the one Oliver said took Lily to the garden and…
“Is the boyfriend home yet?” Andrew leaned over the edge of the desk.
Lizzie felt her cheeks burn scarlet. She couldn’t imagine even Andrew would conclude the thoughts she was supposing about the illustration in the book. “No,” she kept her eyes on the book.
“Do you want to have dinner with Davis and me?” Andrew picked the book up from under Lizzie’s gaze and flipped through a few pages. “Gerard Fulton is a blowhard. I can’t believe he gets people to pay to read about how great he thinks his family is.”
“I was reading it,” Lizzie dared to lift her eyes to Paula.
“Yes, but you didn’t buy the book,” Andrew set it down irreverently. “Do you want to come for dinner?”
“Sorry,” Lizzie managed a pleasant expression. “Nora and Mark already invited me.”
“When is he back?”
“Tomorrow night,” Lizzie sighed. “But just for a few days. He has to go back for some event next weekend.”
“How did Ben’s brother like the house?” Paula approached the desk.
Lizzie darted her eyes quickly to Andrew’s expectant face. She hoped more red stayed away from her cheeks. “He liked it,” Lizzie cleared her throat. “He’s a scientist. I think he just came to be polite.”
“When did Ben’s brother come here?” Andrew asked.
“Halloween,” Paula answered before Lizzie could supply her own. “The day of your party. Did he go?”
“No he didn’t,” Andrew looked hard at Lizzie.
“Ben and Oliver don’t get along very much,” Lizzie found enough cool to offer up a level of honesty without divulging the worst details. “He was in town and has an interest in museums… so he decided to check out the Fulton House.”
“And his brother’s girlfriend?” Andrew raised an eyebrow.
“Shut up Andrew,” Lizzie rolled her eyes. “We went to high school together.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right.”
“He just gave a lecture at UMASS,” Paula added.
“Really?” Andrew looked at Paula.
“Yeah,” Paula searched amongst the papers on the desk. “See.”
Andrew took the museum association newsletter and looked at the photograph. “Professor Ol is kinda hot,” Andrew looked at Lizzie.
“And kinda married,” Lizzie took the newsletter out of his hands. She felt her heart speed up as she looked briefly at his photograph.
“Did he like the house?” Andrew repeated Paula’s question.
“Yeah,” Lizzie muttered quickly. “He even noticed the wallpaper.”
*****
Lizzie was tired after a day of walking aisles to look at changing stations and cribs with Nora. She thought about going home to Jefferson Park to see if Meg was all right. Lizzie didn’t want to keep excluding Meg from her life… not after she committed the same sin. It was an effort and emotional honesty she wasn’t completely ready to confront. She had to talk to Ben before anything. She had to tell him. She had to come clean about seeing Oliver and what… what liberty she allowed him to take.
She settled on the couch to wait out the hours before Ben’s taxi would bring him home. She drank two sips from her wine and leaned against the pillow as she clicked through different television stations. She hadn’t decided to watch anything when she set down the remote and resigned to the fact she wasn’t tired enough to sleep, but lacked the energy to do anything else.
She was impatient to see Ben. Impatient for his company. She dreaded the truth she had to reveal. She told herself she could wait until he came home from Chicago for good. Would the delay make it more difficult to reveal? He told her about Meg. He didn’t tell her the moment after it happened. He seduced her and waited until she was too tired to… think logically. The fight was awful. That was Lizzie’s reaction. Would Ben be any more forgiving? Or would he take off somewhere – would he leave early for Chicago? Would he seek comfort amongst all those athletic, young, unmarried sources? She didn’t want him to go away again. She didn’t want the loneliness and jealousy to fill her heart and make an excuse for indulging Oliver. For indulging herself to fill the vacancy left by Ben’s absence. That’s all it was. She associated Oliver with Ben. She missed Ben. She wanted to be with Ben.
But when she was with him again, would she be able to forget Oliver?
She was at ease talking to him, even about things that were uncomfortable. Or surreal. Not that she felt ill at ease discussing them with Ben. Well, no more than… it was an unusual set of circumstances that seemed to belong more in a science fiction series than her own life. But… for some reason, Oliver was more familiar. As if she had such conversations with him before. Which she had. But not as Lizzie. As someone else.
How did that work? Where in that brain did Lily survive? Even though Lily’s own mind was dust and decayed for centuries much like Horace Fulton. And yet here was Lizzie on the couch warm and breathing and thinking thoughts from another body… but the same soul? Did Lily ever have Lizzie’s thoughts? How could that happen? How could Lily see the future? Lizzie was remembering the past.
If Lily’s past was her past, did that mean that Lily’s feelings were hers as well? If that was the case… she loved Oliver. Oliver meant less to Elizabeth Watson. He was the older brother of the kid who followed her best friend around. Except that kid was really a perpetually young man, with a soul that was older than the country. What Ben was in high school was irrelevant now. She loved Ben. She loved the man who bought her books and carried her home after spraining her ankle. The man who built her shelves in the closet and wanted to protect her... from Oliver.
Lizzie shut her eyes to push out the next thought that Oliver was a threat to her safety. It was all a horrible misunderstanding between the two men – fueled, no doubt, by a rivalry over Charlotte. Was it Charlotte? Or was it something – someone – else?
Lizzie jumped and opened her eyes in a panic. Her eyes slowly shifted into focus on Ben’s smile. “Hi,” he touched her cheek as he tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear.
“Hi,” she answered in a raspy voice. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost midnight,” Ben explained. “My plane had a delay because of snow squalls.”
“It’s snowing?” Lizzie propped herself up weakly.
“Not now,” he sat beside her.
“I fell asleep.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Ben rested his hand beside hers. “I just wanted to look at what I’ve been missing this week.”
“I’m glad you woke me. How was Chicago?”
“Busy. Very, very busy. How was your week?”
Lizzie was glad her cheeks were already red from sleeping close to the radiator. “I had dinner with Nora and Mark yesterday. Today we went shopping for baby furniture.”
“Oh,” Ben wasn’t very much interested. Did he suspect there was something else? Lizzie leaned towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He turned into her embrace and kissed her passionately, but briefly. “I have to get some work done tonight. I have a meeting tomorrow morning and spent little time preparing for it. I’m sorry, Lizzie.”
Lizzie rubbed her eyes at the sound of her nickname. Her thoughts were too cloudy to think about his meaning. She didn’t want to worry about any confessions and would much rather find a comfortable pillow. She shook her head and rested her forehead against his shoulder. “I’m tired anyway.”
; “Come on,” he suddenly scooped her off the couch. Lizzie was already asleep when he got to the bedroom.
She didn’t see much of Ben in the following days. He was leaving for Chicago again on Thursday. He spent most of the days in between at his business, or working on the computer in his home office. She read her book on the couch while he worked, but always went to bed long before he left his desk. She woke up in the middle of the night with his arms around her, but he was gone by the time she got up to get ready for work.
It was difficult to keep her mind focused with his absence, even as he sat in the same room as her. The memory of Oliver’s conversations and his kiss kept seeping into her brain. She was idle at work and let herself look up articles about his research project. She found an actor bio – with no photo – on imdb. There were pictures of him on his college’s website. She found a page the students created about the projects. She could tell from that and his Facebook that many of his female students were smitten – not to mention a few of the males. It was very easy to understand why.
He hadn’t contacted her at all since she watched him from the train. Maybe he realized the error of his impulse. He didn’t want to create more tension with Ben. Or maybe he simply respected her and didn’t want to cause her more confusion. Yes, he would want her to be happy. He always did. Except when he went to Charlotte.
Lizzie lifted her eyes from her book and watched Ben at his computer. The glow of the screen reflected off his pale skin. He was very pale. He had the look of exhaustion under his eyes, making the freckles of his skin glaringly obvious. Lizzie wondered if he fed before he came home. She thought of the calendar and realized it was beyond eight weeks.
She looked back at her book, knowing she hadn’t run in over a week. She wasn’t conscientious about her diet and imagined her blood less appealing than the multitudes he was screening over the past three weeks. Then again, if he was that hungry it meant he hadn’t fed on his last visit to Chicago. Maybe he was hoping to wait until he came home.