Summer Of My Secret Angel

by Anna Katmore

  “Can I have it back, please?” My shy request was met with silence.

  Julian rose from his chair then slowly walked toward me, his white shirt and blond hair the only parts of him visible in the night. He stopped some three feet away from me, clutching the paper with both hands. His lips curled in a way that made me want to lean forward and kiss him.

  “Why do you want it back? Did you find another detail to add to the list?”

  I swallowed hard.

  “But I must give you credit for your creativity.” He spoke very slowly, softly almost, as if my list didn’t bother him at all. “Julian’s spooky dual life. What a fancy title.”

  Gee, thanks. A hint of sarcasm at least.

  “Listen,” I croaked, clasping the skirt of my dress with sweaty hands. “This is something private, and I’d really rather have this list”—a cough gave me the chance to correct myself—“paper back.”

  He studied me for an infinite moment and again my lips itched to touch his.

  “Jona, when you scribbled down all these things about me, what did you suppose I was? Some kind of sorcerer?”

  No. Superman.

  “I can’t tell.” Yet. “But there’s definitely something wrong with you.” This close to him, I could see his brow lift in a startled way, so I quickly added, “You do things to me and to others that seem…impossible.”

  “Like resurrecting a duck?” To accentuate the point, he flipped the list in his hands, displaying my handwriting.

  I stood rigid, the shudder skittering down my spine tormenting me. “You have to admit all of the things listed did happen. You’re capable of some special powers, and I don’t see why you won’t tell me the truth.”

  I would definitely get a chance to see a padded cell from the inside if I didn’t stop this crazy rambling.

  “The truth is there’s nothing special about me. Why are you making things up?”

  “Liar!” The word burst out without me thinking. Proof of his lying rang in his every word, reflected in his clenched jaw, his averted gaze, and in the way he took a small step backward. “It’s not like you can fool me with your average clothes and your trying to act normal.” I ripped the sheet out of his hands, not caring that it tore at the sides where he clasped it. “I’m not Lois Lane.”

  He frowned. “Lois who?”

  “Never mind. The point is, I figured you out. You may as well tell me everything.”

  He chuckled, but there was no humor in his laugh. “Did someone spike your drink tonight?”

  “Argh!” My teeth ground together; I restrained from speaking.

  The same man who had claimed he loved me not ten minutes ago didn’t trust me enough to let me in on his secret. And this was the most hurtful part of it all. Not the fact that there was actually something weird going on, like supernatural. I could handle that.

  “It’s late,” I said, yearning for a break. “I’m tired, and you should keep Charlene company at the party. We can talk about this tomorrow.” When I would be right in my mind again and wouldn’t be thinking about kissing him every single moment.

  “But there is nothing we need to talk about.”

  I sighed. “If you say so.” I hung my head and returned to my room.

  The chaos on the floor next to my desk would have to wait to be tidied. Tonight, a strange mental exhaustion overcame me. I slumped into bed fully dressed and with no thought of tomorrow.

  Morning had already stretched into noon when I woke on Sunday.

  The blanket was tucked nicely around me and Marie’s sandals stood on the floor at the end of my bed. With the balcony door open, I assumed it had been Julian who tucked me in. It was difficult to tell what irritated me more. The fact that he entered my room anytime he wanted, or that he seemed to care for me one moment and then the next, he didn’t trust me enough to tell me anything about himself.

  After a shower, I dressed in my usual dark clothes. The yellow dress hung in the wardrobe as a reminder of a promising evening that had turned sour. Marie’s sandals dangled from my fingers by the straps as I sauntered downstairs. I followed Marie’s soft humming to the front room, where she was cleaning the wide windowpane. At the door, I coughed and she whirled around.

  “Thanks for lending me your shoes,” I said.

  “You are welcome.” Marie wrung a pink cloth over a bucket of water, then the glass squeaked as she wiped across it once more. “You can borrow them any time you want. I hope you didn’t mind I took them off for you last night.”

  “You came to my room?”

  “I wanted to make sure everything was all right with you, because I did not see you at the party for long. You slept so sound, though, I could not bring myself to wake you.” Her concerned face reflected in the shining window. “There is a snack for you in the kitchen, chérie. We will be alone at home today, so I will not cook until the evening.”

  I put the sandals next to her other shoes under the coat rack. The kitchen was empty, but a sandwich sat on a plate next to a glass of orange juice. Taking a bite, I shouted with a mouthful, “Where is everyone?”

  “Albert is in the vineyards, and Julian took your mother to the doctor,” my aunt’s call came from the front room.

  Why would Charlene have to see a doctor? Was she getting worse? The expected spitefulness held off. Instead, unease stabbed my chest, accentuated by Julian’s words last night. Surely she wasn’t dying yet.

  Was she?

  With a swig of orange juice, I washed down the oppressive feeling in my chest. “Did she take a turn for the worse?” I shouted, cleaning my plate in the sink. Turning around, the sight of Marie leaning in the doorway made me jump. My hand flattened to my chest. “In God’s name, you shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!”

  She studied me with a curious expression. “I do not think it is the cancer that troubles her. She was coughing a lot this morning, so she might have caught a cold last night.” She inclined her head. “But I will let her know that you worried about her. It will make her very happy, I believe.”

  I grimaced. “I’d rather you didn’t.” It wasn’t really a worry anyway, I was just curious. Yes. Curious. Nothing else.

  After a moment of staring at each other, Marie took me by the hand and dragged me into the hallway, where she traded her house slippers for a pair of trainers. “Come on, chérie. It is time to show you something.”

  Reluctantly, I followed as she led me outside and down the narrow road. Occasionally, a car passed us, but otherwise the street was deserted.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You will see. It is not far.” Her stern tone indicated it would be no use to ask again until we got there.

  And we got there fast. After a five-minute walk we arrived at the local cemetery. Marie and I squeezed between the metal gates that stood ajar, then she led the way through a labyrinth of gravestones in a multitude of shapes.

  A chill ran down my spine when I read some of the names craved into the marble blocks. Isabelle Turmoire had died last year after a life of only seven years. The blonde girl smiled at me from a picture placed next to the dates.

  At the far end of the row, Marie pulled me to a stop in front of a wide double grave. I turned to read the words on the smooth surface of the creamy white marble stone.

  Catharine & Joè Montiniere.

  And next to a cross stood their date of death. June 16th 2007. I remembered Marie saying they had died in a car crash. The stone held no picture of my grandparents, but fresh red roses were neatly arranged in an urn matching the tombstone.

  “Did you bring the flowers here earlier?” I whispered, somehow struggling with a dry throat.

  “No. Since the day your mother returned to France, she has never let a day pass without visiting this place.” Marie’s arm sneaked around my shoulders, and she rubbed my upper arm. “Remember I told you she wasn’t here when your grandparents died? She never made up with them, but she wishes she had. Every day.”

  In spite of the s
un shining on our backs, a shiver turned my blood cold.

  Aunt Marie twisted me toward her and cupped my face. “My little darling. Soon, this will be the only place where you can talk to your mother. Don’t make the same mistake like her. You will be the one living with the pain in the end.” There was no anger or accusation. Only a deep sorrow.

  Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I could already imagine Charlene’s name carved into the stone under the names of her parents. And a little girl, no more than five years old, kneeling by the grave to replace wilted flowers with a fresh bouquet.

  My throat constricted. For the first time in years, the part of me yearning for the love of not just any mother, but this particular caring mom I once knew, opened and sucked me into a deep hole of aching. A hole that I’d worked hard to fill up with sarcasm and rage. The pain Marie had released inside me threatened to eat me up.

  I jerked out of her hold. “You shouldn’t have brought me here!”

  “Oh no, chérie. Now I see I should have brought you much sooner.”

  BURNED

  RAYS OF A late afternoon sun reflected in the spotless glass that I’d just finished wiping. The labor had the effect of keeping me from musing over recent events, such as Julian’s declaration of love and the visit to the cemetery. And also of those events soon to come.

  My mother’s death.

  When we’d returned from the cemetery, I asked Marie which of the windows in the house she hadn’t gotten to yet. Armed with cleanser and bucket, I set on a polishing frenzy. The window above the kitchen sink was the last on my tour from top to bottom.

  The biting smell of cleaning solution hung in the room, pinching my nose, while the clinking of pots drifted from behind. At first, I thought Lou-Lou had knocked cooking utensils down to the floor with her tail. But the lazy dog still lay sprawled under the table. She watched me work with her sleepy eyes.

  Marie was the one to break my serenity as she crawled into the credenza to retrieve a wide pan and a large pot. After returning the cleaning stuff to the mop closet, I helped peel a hive of potatoes and dropped them into the pot of boiling water. Meanwhile Marie breaded several fish filets for frying.

  “You have become very quiet this afternoon,” my aunt said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Is everything okay?”

  I gave a quick nod, but didn’t let her in on my thoughts. While I’d succeeded in keeping my mother out of my mind for most of the afternoon, I wasn’t so lucky with Julian. Last night’s argument kept haunting me.

  He and my mother were gone for too long. No doctor would have such a long wait. It occurred to me that Julian was taking her somewhere else. Maybe to talk. Was he telling her what I’d noticed about him? About the list I wrote?

  Irritated that he would put trust into my mother but not me, I washed my hands, slumped into a chair, and stared at Marie’s back. “Can I ask you something about Julian?”

  Salt shaker in hand, my aunt turned toward me with a grin. “Sure. I heard he kissed you last night.”

  My temperature rose, especially in my face. “Well, yeah.” I wiped my sweating hands on my pants. “How long have you known him?”

  “Not too long. He came here with your mother.”

  I propped my chin on my elbows on the table. “In that time, have you noticed anything unusual about him? Like not-quite-human-ish kind of unusual?”

  “Certainly not.” Her lips pursed as she came to sit with me. “Why would you ask such a question?”

  Because he can resurrect the dead.

  I shrugged one shoulder. “He just did a few things that made me wonder. Never mind.”

  “What is concerning you? I can see you struggle with something.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. “Don’t you think it strange that he’s so close to my mother? It makes me wonder what kind of relationship the two of them have.”

  “He is her caretaker. As far as I know Julian, he definitely takes his job seriously.” Her ever-kind tone proved to me that she wasn’t in on Julian’s secret, either. She had stomped on my hopes to find out more about him.

  I had to find another source of information. “Is there a computer connected to the Internet that I could use?”

  “Sure. In Albert’s office. Feel free to use it whenever you like.”

  “Okay, thanks.” The chair almost knocked backward as I jumped up and rushed to my uncle’s study. It was hard to say how much longer Julian and Charlene would be out, and I wanted to get this done before they returned.

  Halfway over the threshold, I skittered to a halt and spun around. “Marie?” I shouted across the hallway.

  Her head appeared in the kitchen door across the hall.

  “What’s Julian’s last name?”

  Now she emerged fully, crossed her arms over her stomach, and pursed her lips. “How strange. He has been living here for so many weeks, and it never occurred to me to ask for his full name.”

  Weird.

  Scratching her head, she disappeared into the kitchen again.

  The smell of aged books whooshed into my face as I entered the office. The narrow room was rimmed with shelves on one side and a small desk at the far end. The window at my back when I sat in the big leather office chair overlooked the garden and reflected on the wide screen of the computer.

  Unlike the single, tremendously slow computer we’d had in the orphanage, Albert’s only took seconds to boot up. I connected to the web and typed The Supporters Associates into the search engine.

  Biting my nails helped kill the tension as I scrolled to the bottom of the page with suitable matches. But apart from an advertisement for some social network and some books with either the word supporters or associates in the title, Google didn’t come up with anything related.

  While trying to think of another way to search for Julian’s employer, I rocked back in the chair, my gaze traveling through the room. Alongside a few pictures of my aunt and uncle with Lou-Lou, two dueling guns hung on the wall. They looked ancient. Pushing up on the armrests, I rose from the chair and stepped closer to let my fingers glide carefully along one of the cold metal shafts.

  “Be careful, that one is still loaded.”

  Spooked at my uncle’s deep rumble, I jerked my hand away.

  “The one who carried it never got a chance to shoot it. He did not survive le duel.” Albert chuckled. “Your aunt told me you wanted to use the Internet. Can I help you with anything?”

  “No, thanks.” With a twinge of shock, I rushed back behind the desk to close the window on the screen before he could catch a glimpse of my research. “I just found”—Nothing— “what I needed.”

  The stubbly skin of his face lay in friendly wrinkles. “I do not mind you using my computer, so you do not have to be shy. Come in whenever you need to look up something.”

  Nodding, I scurried out of the room and back to the kitchen to see if Marie needed a hand.

  A tea towel around the handle, she held the big pot’s lid and poked inside the boiling water with a fork. “Can I have you drain these potatoes in a couple of minutes? The colander is in the sink.”

  A rattle of keys at the front door announced that Julian and my mother were home. A tickle of excitement stirred my stomach. Julian’s lips twitched, and our gazes met as he spotted me leaning against the counter. My heart sped up. Even with the frustrating conversation of last night still ringing in my head, I couldn’t help but smile back.

  I’d missed him all day.

  “Wonderful timing,” Marie chimed out. “The fish will be ready in a moment.”

  Charlene glanced at me from the threshold then grimaced at her sister. “Don’t be mad, Marie, but I’m not hungry. I’ll just take one of these”—she pressed a small red pill out of the packing and grabbed a glass of water—“and then get some rest.”

  “Oh dear, you do look worse than this morning,” Marie replied. “What did the doctor say?”

  My mother took a long draught from her glass, so Julian answered instead. “
Just a cold. But she’s got a light fever. Since the cancer has already weakened her immune system, he ordered plenty of fluids and strict bed rest for the next couple of weeks.”

  “Shit, that’s a long time to be bedridden.” The words were out before I could snap my mouth shut.

  Everybody turned to me. Biting the inside of my cheek, I hurried to drain the potatoes just to give myself something to do as their surprised gazes made me extremely uncomfortable.

  A dishcloth wrapped around each handle of the pot prevented the hot metal from touching my skin. Unfortunately, the bunches of cloth made it hard to get a good grip. When I lifted the heavy pot from the heat, the left handle slipped out of my hold. In a mad reflex, I pulled the right side higher and the boiling water poured over my left hand.

  Everyone froze.

  And then all hell broke loose. I screamed my head off. The pot dropped and clattered on the floor tiles sending hot water splashing all around. Frightened by my screaming, my mother and aunt cried in unison. Albert appeared in the door, terrified at what was causing the noise.

  Hands touched me. Patted me. I was shoved, pushed, yanked, and dragged. The dog barked, fleeing from the room, knocking Marie over. Someone kicked the pot to the corner.

  And then Julian was with me.

  Grabbing my shoulders, he shook me once, forcing me to stare into his intense blue eyes. This alone stopped my screams, even with the excruciating pain searing up my arm. Next he closed his fingers gently around my burned hand.

  And the pain eased.

  My jaw dropped. But he didn’t give me a single second to gather myself. Ushering me to the sink, he turned on the tap and held my hand underneath the stream to cool my burn. But it wasn’t necessary. The pain had fully vanished, and with the way his fingers were wrapped around mine, the water didn’t even touch my skin.

  Breathing deep, I kept still in his hold but focused on his tense face. After a long moment, he switched his gaze to me.