by Sharon Pape
Since her father and George were installed in the two armchairs, Rory joined Aaron on the couch. She thought she’d left enough room between them not to raise even Zeke’s critical eyebrows, but the couch was old, the suspension shot, and Aaron had a good eighty pounds on her. In no time she was sliding downhill to him. Not that he seemed to mind. He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her more tightly to him. Her father and George were too hooked into the football game to notice. But the marshal, who had surely followed her into the room, had no interest whatsoever in that sport.
“Relax,” Aaron said, massaging her shoulder, “your muscles are tight as a knot.”
“That’s because we womenfolk have been slaving over a hot stove for hours to create a lavish spread for you menfolk.” Or possibly, because we’re also entertaining a federal marshal straight out of the nineteenth century, complete with that era’s moral code. Although Zeke had promised to behave today, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d broken such a vow. After several minutes passed without any paranormal hoopla, Rory exhaled a sigh of relief.
At halftime her father and George got up to stretch their legs and wound up following their noses into the kitchen to see how dinner was coming along. “It was great of your mom to include me today,” Aaron said once they were alone.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, meaning it more than she’d thought she would, in spite of the inherent dangers. With their faces only inches apart, it seemed completely natural when Aaron leaned closer and kissed her. It was a brief kiss that was over in seconds, but as their lips parted, Rory heard a grumble like the groaning of old floorboards or the moaning timbers of a house in high wind. Since the house was barely thirty years old and there was currently no wind, she could only attribute the sound to ghostly displeasure. But when she glanced up at Aaron, he didn’t appear to have heard anything out of the ordinary. Maybe she’d imagined it. She really had to stop worrying about Zeke’s reaction to everything. Right, talk about easier said than done. It was a good bet he’d considered the kiss a public display of affection and therefore terribly improper. Of course it wouldn’t have been public if he hadn’t been there, and Aaron certainly had no way of knowing there was an invisible pair of eyes watching his every move. But that was a bit of reasoning that could easily have eluded the marshal. In spite of all the time they’d spent together, she didn’t understand how a man of generally sound logic and keen perceptions could have such obvious and irritating blind spots.
Aaron tipped her chin up so that he was looking into her eyes for a moment before he bent his head to kiss her again. “Ow, what the—,” he yelped, jerking his arm back from her shoulder. When he pushed up the sleeve of his sweater, Rory saw a small red welt on his wrist.
“What happened?” she asked, although she already had a pretty good idea.
“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing the spot. “It felt like a bee sting, but there aren’t any bees around this time of year.”
No, Rory thought, but there are ghosts. And she happened to know one in particular who’d learned how to narrow and concentrate his energy into a fine point that might feel like a sting and leave a bruise like the one Aaron was now examining. “Can I get you a bandage or anything?” she asked.
Aaron shook his head. “No, the skin’s not broken. It’ll be fine. I wouldn’t mind knowing what caused it though.”
Since Rory knew the cause, she was wishing exactly the opposite. She thought about demanding a meeting with the marshal in the privacy of the bathroom, but she decided to postpone such a discussion until they were home. There was always a chance that it might devolve into a heated argument and make matters worse. In the interests of a peaceful holiday, she counted slowly to ten, then twenty and on up to thirty, at which point her anger began to subside.
When her unofficial chaperones returned to their seats, she was both relieved and annoyed with herself for feeling that relief. What twenty-first-century woman in her right mind worries about the consequences of a brief kiss from the man she’s dating? Stop it, she scolded herself. If she didn’t shut down that train of thought, it was going to plough right through the safety crossing in spite of all the warning lights.
By the time her mother called everyone to dinner, Rory finally had her runaway emotions under control. Now if she could just make it through the rest of Thanksgiving without any more drama, she’d consider the day a success. Her father took his place at the head of the table. Rory sat to his right, with Aaron across the table from her and George on her other side. Helene was seated next to her acting buddy. And after setting the drunken cranberry sauce on the table, Arlene claimed the chair opposite her husband. Hobo took up his usual place at her father’s side.
At first everyone was busy passing around all the platters and casseroles. But after a few minutes, the conversation started up again with George’s praise of the cranberry sauce.
“Arlene, you’ve outdone yourself,” he said with a blissful smile. “What’s in this cranberry sauce that makes it so irresistible?”
“Probably all the brandy,” Helene replied for her sister. “The first time she made it, I didn’t realize how much brandy she used, and I wound up with a hangover.”
“That’s probably because you guzzled nearly the whole bowl by yourself,” Dan said. “Moderation has never been your strong suit.”
“Well, I’d rather be known for excess than moderation,” Helene told him indignantly. “No one is ever remembered for their moderation.”
“But excess often leads to an early demise.”
“Moderation can lead to boring yourself to death.”
Rory was enjoying the sharp interchange between them that was as much a part of their get-togethers as the meal itself. But Aaron looked as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or call for peace talks.
“Welcome to my family,” she said brightly to dispel his concerns. “My dad and my aunt always graciously supply our dining entertainment.”
“They’re worse than siblings,” Arlene said, shaking her head. “Very immature siblings.”
Between mouthfuls, George came up for air. “Look who’s talking,” he said to Arlene. Then he launched into a story about when he and the sisters were kids and spent summers with their families in upstate New York. “These two siblings,” he said, pointing to the sisters, “were constantly sniping at each other. They’d concoct elaborate practical jokes to play on one another too. Somehow I always got caught in the middle and wound up in more trouble than either of them.”
Rory didn’t remember ever hearing about that time in their lives. She was listening so raptly to the tales of their exploits that she didn’t immediately notice that Aaron was choking.
Chapter 21
Helene was the first to react. Jumping up from her seat, she yelled for him to get up. Behind him in a flash, she tried to apply the Heimlich maneuver, but she’d never done it before, and it wasn’t working. Aaron grabbed her hands in a desperate effort to add his strength to hers, but his face was already turning a scary ashen color.
“Get over here and help me,” Helene screamed at her family, all of whom seemed frozen in panic. Rory flew to her aunt’s side. She had only the barest recollection of what to do, but she had to try. It was just too awful, too ridiculous to think that Aaron could be dead in moments, felled by a mouthful of Thanksgiving. But before she and Helene could change places, a lump of dinner roll flew out of Aaron’s mouth and he collapsed onto his chair, coughing and sputtering.
To Rory’s relief, his skin quickly turned from a mottled gray to a healthy pink. Although she wanted to have him checked out at the emergency room, he pulled rank on her. “Hold on there,” he said. “As the only doctor in the house, I believe I’m the most qualified to make that decision.” The remark bought a round of nervous laugher that swept the last of the tension from the room. Everyone started talking, comparing experiences they’d had and r
eminding one another that incidents like this were a wakeup call not to sweat the small stuff. And didn’t this really put the “thankful” into Thanksgiving?
Once Aaron had a chance to catch his breath, he went over to thank Helene, catching her up in a grateful bear hug. After he released her, she tottered for a moment before regaining her balance. For the first time, Rory noticed how pale and shaken she looked, as if the gravity of the situation had finally hit her. “Are you okay?” she asked, taking her aunt’s hand and leading her aside.
Helene’s eyebrows were bunched together like tiny fists. “I don’t know what just happened,” she said, her voice trembling.
“You saved Aaron’s life.”
“No, I didn’t. I wasn’t doing it right or I wasn’t strong enough, whatever. It wasn’t working,” she said, locking her troubled eyes on her niece.
“What are you saying?”
“I’d started to loosen my grip, so you could take over and that’s when . . . when I got this electric charge—like a shock, no, not a normal shock,” she corrected herself, “more like a powerful surge of energy.”
Zeke, Rory realized with a start. Zeke had saved Aaron’s life. But she couldn’t tell her aunt the truth. Helene had never been very good at keeping secrets, regardless of how hard she tried. She’d go crazy trying to keep something of this magnitude quiet. In the end, it would all come spilling out, and she’d be ravaged by guilt. “Come on, you’ve heard of things like this,” Rory said. “You know, when adrenalin gives someone superhuman strength in a life or death situation. There are lots of documented cases of ordinary people doing amazing things, like lifting a car off a loved one.”
Helene’s expression said she wasn’t buying the explanation. “You don’t understand,” she protested, “I was hardly—”
“Aunt Helene,” Rory said gently, cutting her off before she could sink any deeper into the quicksand of her doubts, “you can’t expect to remember things exactly as they happened during such a traumatic event. Time gets all scrambled in the brain; the order of events becomes confused. I’ve read all about it.”
“I guess,” Helene murmured without much conviction.
“Look, there’s nothing to be gained by dwelling on the details,” Rory went on. “What difference does it make how it happened or how you remember it happening? All that matters is that Aaron is alive because of you.” Unable to come up with more convincing words, she drew her aunt into a tight embrace, hoping time would whittle away at her remaining doubts.
The rest of the meal proceeded without further incident and with a lot less conversation. Everyone was focused on cutting their food into small bites and being careful not to eat and talk at the same time. Aaron had lost his appetite, which was understandable, but he appeared to be fine in every other respect. By the time dessert was served, he’d recovered enough to have a piece of the pumpkin pie and some of the apple pie with ice cream.
Before they started cleaning up, Rory excused herself to use the bathroom. She ran upstairs, where there was less chance of anyone overhearing her. The dressing down she’d considered giving the marshal hours ago had been supplanted by the praise she wanted to heap on him now. An unsettling thought occurred to her. Would Zeke have saved Aaron’s life if they’d had a big blowup earlier? For that matter, what if she’d sent him home as punishment, or he’d left in a snit? Let it go, she told herself; what’s the point of dwelling on what might have happened? Listen to your own advice and just be grateful everything’s okay.
“Zeke,” she called in a loud whisper, expecting him to pop right up. He’d never been reluctant to accept her gratitude. She called out to him again and waited. Five minutes passed, but he didn’t show. She told herself he’d gone home to rest after expending his energy, but she didn’t really believe that. He couldn’t have depleted himself with that one act. She had a working knowledge of how much it took to sap his energy these days, and saving Aaron didn’t come close to pushing the envelope. The marshal’s absence was a mystery that would have to wait until she went home.
Cousin George had left for the airport shortly after they’d finished dinner. And although Aaron insisted on helping to clear the table, he was willing enough to head home once that was accomplished. Without other guests to entertain, Rory’s dad pitched in to help put away the good china and all the platters and serving dishes that were only used for the holidays.
Helene was the next to leave, still wearing a slightly bewildered expression. Rory had hooked Hobo’s leash to his collar and was putting on her coat when her mother asked her to wait a minute. She reappeared carrying a cardboard box with the top flaps still open. “Please hang on to this for me until we’re done moving,” she said, setting the box on the kitchen table. “I don't want to take a chance on losing the things in here.”
Rory peered inside. There were half a dozen photograph albums of various sizes, including the one her mother had recently shown her. She was more than happy to take them. She’d wanted to have another look at the old pictures anyway.
***
Zeke was nowhere in sight when Rory and Hobo returned home. She unhooked the dog’s leash, then carried the cardboard box up to the study, where it would be out of the way until she had time to go through it. Now that she was home, she was starting to realize just how exhausted she was. Apprehension and anxiety packed a powerful one-two punch. Even though it was still early, she changed into her cuddliest pj’s and pulled on her old bathrobe and furry slippers. Hobo, who didn’t need to bother changing, was already out cold and snoring on the living-room couch, no doubt dreaming about Christmas goodies to come.
Rory went into the kitchen and set the teapot on the stove, thinking that maybe another cup of hot liquid would help her digest all she’d eaten. Stress and a full stomach were clearly not compatible. When the tea was ready, she took it upstairs to the study and settled herself in the reading chair before calling for the marshal.
He didn’t appear immediately, and when he did, he was surprisingly nonchalant. Rory had braced herself for some peacock strutting, given that he’d saved the day, but Zeke tucked himself into the chair behind her desk with only the thinnest of smiles.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said immediately. “Without your help, Aaron wouldn’t—”
“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted her. “I’m a regular hero. Is that all you wanted to say?”
“No, I mean that was a big part of it, but . . . why did you leave so abruptly?”
“I was tired and I figured you could manage on your own for a little while. At least you’re always tellin’ me how you can.”
“What’s on your mind, Marshal?” she asked bluntly.
“Your boyfriend needs to show you more respect,” he said without preamble.
Bingo—there it was. But how could she possibly demand that he get over it and get in tune with the times, when he’d just saved Aaron’s life? So she swallowed the little speech she’d prepared earlier and said she’d talk to Aaron about it. Of course she had no idea how to go about such a discussion, without giving Aaron the impression that she was a closet Puritan or planning to enter a convent. “Just to be clear,” she said, “you do realize that he didn’t know you were there?”
“I’m well aware of the fact that I was invisible, but anyone could have walked into that room at any moment.”
And the walls might have fallen down and left us exposed to the whole wide world, she felt like screaming in exasperation. But instead she said, “It was just a kiss.
“This time.” Zeke seemed determined to stand his ground, even if he knew how ridiculous he sounded, how out of proportion his reaction was to a simple kiss.
Rory’s gratitude had a brief knock-down-drag-out with her natural inclination to set him straight. Her gratitude won. But only by the slimmest of margins. With nothing left to say on the subject, she drank her tea, which was no longer hot o
r comforting.
“What’s in the box?” Zeke asked, breaking the silence between them. His black mood seemed to have lifted now that he’d said his piece. Rory wished she could feel as settled about the matter. But she knew that by placating him today, she’d set a bad precedent for future battles on the subject. She wasn’t going to be the prim and proper lady he expected, and he didn’t seem willing to adjust his way of thinking. All of his supposed progress since she’d met him had been snuffed out in an instant, leaving them locked in the same old stalemate. But after a long and harrowing day, she was more than willing to play Scarlett O’Hara and think about it tomorrow.
“Some photo albums my mother asked me to keep here until after the move,” she replied.
“Mind if I take a look-see?” Before she had a chance to answer, he was hunkered down next to the box. He pulled out one album and started flipping through the photos in their plastic sleeves. “What is this place?” he asked.
Rory leaned over to see what he was looking at. “That’s Disney World—my first time there. I think I was six.” After setting her empty teacup on the desk, she joined Zeke on the floor, sitting close enough to see the pictures. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at them.
Zeke seemed fascinated by the concept of such a huge and fabulous place created just for having fun. He roared with laughter when he saw Rory wearing her Mickey Mouse ears in one photo and being hugged by an enormous Pluto in another. The next album he picked had pictures from her first ten birthday parties. Her father had put them together to have a sort of time-lapse memento of her childhood.