"What's all that?" Alex asked, pointing to the packet of letters.
"My letters from Suzannah."
Alex raised an eyebrow. He'd never known there were letters. Never once while telling the story of the curse had Julian shared that piece of information. "She wrote to you?"
"I thought I'd told you about the letters."
"No, you didn't." Alex cleared his throat. "Look, Grandfather, we need to talk." And the last thing he wanted to talk about was the infamous Suzannah.
Julian removed his glasses. He rubbed his eyes, then returned the glasses to his face. "I suppose we do, but first, I want you to listen." Julian picked up the letter, took a deep breath, and began to read.
We must meet in Arizona this summer, Julian. I have been learning about the historic sites of the ancient Anasazi, and I am eager to see where they really lived. I know there must be a wonderful world out there, and I long to see it. Did I tell you that my great-grandmother was born in Arizona? Before she died she told me so much about the desert, the deep canyons, the blue sky, the vast silence, the mystical sense of a past filled with people who danced with the spirits.
I think I must be like the spirits, Julian. No one understands me here. Since my parents died, I am all alone. My great-aunt is so stern. She goes to church every day to pray for my soul and makes me pray for forgiveness every night before I go to bed. She doesn't like my clothes. She doesn't like the way I talk, and she hates it when I dance. Perhaps I am truly wicked, Julian, for I can't stop dreaming about you. I long for you in ways that I know must be wrong. I have your picture hidden beneath my pillow and your letters are locked in a box in my closet. I know if my aunt found them, she would make me stop writing you. But I can't do that. You mean so much to me.
Please say you will meet me this summer. I must see you in the flesh. I must know if our love is as real as it feels to me.
Julian's voice trembled on the last word and he once again removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. "How wrong she was to invite me."
Alex didn't know what to say or do. He felt uncomfortable with such a display of emotion, and deep down, a bit jealous that his grandfather had experienced a love that still moved him. Then he reminded himself that his grandfather had gone on to find equal happiness with five other women. So much for everlasting love. It didn't exist. And this search for Suzannah was born of sentiment and a yearning to recapture a youth forever lost.
"You don't understand." Julian watched Alex with a perceptive gaze that was now free of tears. "How could I expect you to -- with the curse of the Carrigans marked on your brow?"
"Last time I looked, my forehead was free of any marks, Grandfather."
"You're so literal, Alex. Do you never look beyond the surface?"
"What's the point? If people don't say what they mean, why should I dig deeper? And frankly, this sudden yearning for a lost love seems rather ridiculous. You had plenty of time to find this woman -- if you really wanted to."
Julian's gaze turned troubled. "You're right. I suppose a part of me was afraid of finding her again. I wanted to know what happened to her, and at the same time I didn't. I was terrified that my actions had brought the curse into her life. It was easier not to know. It was easier to live with the ignorance than with the truth."
"She probably married someone else and lived happily ever after." Alex refused to let his grandfather's passionate words touch him again. "And if you were afraid to find her before, why now -- when it's far too late to change what happened? Why add more stress to your life when you should be relaxing, taking things easy, planning for a comfortable future? We should be looking for condos."
"Because you want me out of your way," Julian said flatly, his voice no longer filled with emotion.
Alex felt more comfortable with this response. This was the grandfather he knew, the one who was too busy to let a little boy mess around with his costumes or his paints, the one who got married every other year and spent more time with other people's families than with his own. This was the man who had never remembered Alex's birthday but couldn't seem to forget a woman he'd known for a few short months more than fifty years ago.
"I don't blame you really," Julian said. "I suppose it's what I deserve. Your grandmother always said we reap what we sow."
His grandmother, Bess. Alex hadn't thought of her in years. She'd been Julian's first wife, and they'd divorced when Alex's father, Brett, was five years old. Apparently Bess had found Julian in the arms of another woman. Like father, like son, Alex thought, remembering his own father's infidelities. The only difference in the two generations was that Bess had kept her son with him. His own mother had chosen to leave him with a father who cared more about getting screwed than raising a son.
Alex shook his head, disgusted with the turn of his thoughts. He'd wasted too much time already feeling sorry for himself. He didn't do that anymore. There was no point. He had a good life now, a business that gave him a great sense of accomplishment. He didn't need a family or a wife to mess up the happiness he had found in his work.
"Neither one of us would be happy living together," Alex said. "You know that as well as I do. I suggest that tomorrow we spend some time looking for a suitable place for you to live. We can still see each other, but you'll have your space, and I'll have mine. As for this quest of yours -- I don't think it's healthy for you."
Julian arched one eyebrow. "And you're so concerned? Now who's acting?"
"I'm not acting. I don't want to see you get your hopes up and find out this woman died years ago or that she can't be found, or that she married someone else, had ten children, and lived a happy life. Either one of those scenarios is going to hurt you." Despite his resentment toward his grandfather, Alex didn't want to see the old man get hurt, because one thing had become apparent in the last twenty-four hours: Julian was old. He was tired and his body was winding down. Maybe it was an act, but Alex didn't think he was that good.
"There is one other scenario," Julian said. "We find Suzannah alone and still suffering from the consequences of my thievery. She still has the piece of pottery. We glue it back together, return it to the holy grounds, and restore peace to our families."
"Oh, for God's sake... What are the chances, Grandfather? Where would you even start?"
"I would start with Miss Faith."
Faith. Alex's stomach turned over. The name immediately drummed up the image of red hair sparked with gold, flashing green eyes, soft, full lips, a hint of a smile, a speck of a tear. Damn. Why couldn't he forget the details?
"Faith will help me," Julian said. "She won't be allowed to do otherwise."
"Allowed? What are you talking about?"
Julian seemed to hesitate, his eyes darting from a brown box on the desk to the letters on the bed. Finally he looked at Alex. "She agreed to help, that's all."
"That's not what you said."
"Let it alone, Alex. None of this need concern you. I'm sure you'll be busy selling your shoes next week. No doubt we'll rarely see you."
Everything his grandfather said was true. So why didn't he let it alone? What did he care if his grandfather spent his days on a dusty search through old phone books? He wasn't going to find Suzannah. And in time Faith would come to realize that and go away.
"Fine." Alex stood up. "Just do it during the day when I'm not here, okay? By the way, I met with a private investigator this afternoon."
"A private investigator?" Julian's eyes lit up. "To help me find Suzannah?"
"No. To help me find Jessie's real father."
Julian looked both disappointed and irritated. "I see. And what will finding this man accomplish, Alex? Perhaps he's married with three other children and doesn't want another. Or what if you find him, and he's a terrible person, a drunk? Will either of those scenarios make you happy?"
Alex could hardly admit that those two possibilities scared the hell out of him. "There is another scenario. He could be a great guy desperate to have a relationship with his long-los
t daughter."
"So you do have an imagination on occasion. That's encouraging."
"Why do I try to talk to you?"
"Because you can't stand it when someone doesn't agree with you. We're more alike than you think."
"That is the scariest thing you've said all day." Alex walked to the door.
"Alex?"
Alex paused in the doorway. "What?"
"I would have wanted her, too."
"Who? Faith?" Alex's eyes narrowed. "I don't want her. If there were a photograph in the dictionary next to the word homebody, it would be of Faith."
"That's what you need, Alex, someone to make you a home."
Alex shook his head. "I don't need anyone, and I certainly don't need a woman named Faith."
* * *
"Faith?" Ben asked, eagerness lighting up his eyes as she brought him a bottle of Beck's beer. "You still haven't answered my question. Have you decided to say yes?"
Faith realized her enthusiastic greeting a few minutes earlier had probably given Ben the wrong impression, but she'd been so glad to see him, to be distracted from... No, she wouldn't go down that road. She needed to concentrate on the here and now, not on some crazy daydream about people who had lived centuries ago.
"Here's your beer." She handed him the bottle. "I hope it's cold enough. I picked it up at the store earlier, but I forgot to put it in the refrigerator until a while ago."
"My beer is fine, and you're stalling."
She sat down on the couch and waited for him to do the same. "I'm still not sure, Ben. We're friends, good friends, maybe best friends. But we've never -- you know."
Ben looked down at his beer bottle, then back at her. "In the beginning it seemed too soon."
"It has been two years, Ben. Last weekend was the first time you kissed me."
"And you kissed me back."
This time she looked away. How could she explain that he'd reminded her of Gary? It would sound insulting and hurtful, and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt Ben. He'd stood by her since the day they'd told her Gary was dead. He'd dragged her out of her apartment and out of her depression. He'd helped her to go on, to go back to work, to make the bakery that she and Gary had dreamed about a success.
"Faith. I think we'd be good together. I know I'm not the love of your life. I wouldn't try to take Gary's place in your heart if that's what you're worried about."
"It's not that."
"Then what?"
How could she explain? It wasn't just Gary she missed, it was the feeling of excitement, anticipation, the butterflies in her stomach, the racing pulse at the end of a kiss, the heat, the passion, the sense of falling, loving, being. Could she have that with Ben?
She studied his pleasantly handsome face. It wasn't as if he weren't attractive, as if other women hadn't wanted to go out with him. He'd always had plenty of dates, just no one serious that she could remember. And she liked so much about him. She wanted to be attracted to him. She wanted to love him.
"Kiss me," she said suddenly.
Ben started. "What?"
"Kiss me." Before he could move, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.
He quickly responded, sliding his hands around her back. Faith closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of being in a man's arms, feeling a man's mouth on hers, inhaling the scent of musk aftershave. It was the smell that did it, that brought back all the memories. It was the same aftershave Gary had used. For a moment, she remembered the way he'd kissed her, and she instinctively reached for the same feeling, taking the initiative with Ben, pushing him to deepen the kiss, hoping, praying, wanting to feel what she'd felt before.
And she heard bells -- maybe there was magic after all. But then Ben broke the kiss and the ringing continued. It was the telephone. She looked at it in dismay, irritated at the intrusion when she was trying so hard to get lost in Ben's arms.
"Do you want to get that?" Ben asked.
No, she wanted to go back to the kiss, to the elusive feeling for which her heart still hungered. When she didn't move, Ben picked up the phone, which was on the table next to him.
"Hello," he said. He looked over at Faith. "Yes, she's here. Hold on." He held out the receiver to her. "For you. It's a man."
Faith's heart skipped a beat. A man? The only men who called her at home these days were Ben and his father. "Hello?"
"Miss Faith?"
"Mr. Carrigan." Her body tensed at the sound of Julian's voice. She was reminded of her earlier dream, of the strange images and feelings she had experienced.
"I'm sorry that I frightened you earlier."
Faith twisted the telephone cord between her fingers. "You didn't frighten me. I just let my imagination run wild for a minute there."
"I must admit to feeling a bit shocked by your reaction. The expression on your face -- well, you looked just like Suzannah. I had the strangest sense of deja vu." He paused. "I had no idea, Miss Faith. I'm sorry for pulling you into this, for exposing you to the curse."
Faith didn't know what to say to Julian or to the questioning look in Ben's eyes. She knew she couldn't talk about it now, not with Ben sitting right next to her. "Can I call you back? I have company at the moment."
"Of course. I'm sorry to disturb you. I just wanted to apologize and tell you that I understand your reluctance to help me pursue my quest. You're a lovely young woman with your whole life ahead of you. Why would you want to waste a second of it on a foolish dream? Please, accept my apology. I won't bother you again."
A rush of guilt swept through her. Julian's words reminded her that he was an old man with one last hope of finding peace, and she was being selfish. Or was she just succumbing to the wiles of a con man? She knew Alex didn't believe in his grandfather's story. Then again, she didn't get the feeling Alex believed in much of anything.
"Good night, Miss Faith."
"Wait," she said impulsively. "Don't be sorry. What you want to do is very noble. I hope you find Suzannah."
"I hope so, too."
"I wish I could help, but..." Her voice drifted away. What reason could she give him? She was too busy? She was too smart to play sucker? Or she was too afraid of the emotions, the images, the voices, the drums, the wind, and the sense that she was being drawn back into a dream, a nightmare, a life that was not hers?
"I understand," Julian said.
"Thank you. Good night."
"Who was that?" Ben asked curiously as he hung up the phone for her.
"Julian Carrigan, the elderly man who came to the bakery yesterday."
"The one Mother thinks is a con artist."
"Yes, but she's wrong."
"Why is he calling you, Faith? What does he want you to do for him? And why do you look so pale?''
Faith ran a hand through her hair and tried to smile. "Because I'm tired. It's been a long day, Ben. And Mr. Carrigan isn't after my money, believe me. He's just lonely."
"So let him find his own girl," Ben said with a smile, leaning over to kiss her.
Although he let his lips linger, Faith no longer had the energy to pursue the passion, and after a moment she pulled away. Ben looked disappointed.
"Next time I'll let your machine pick up the phone," he said.
She smiled. "Next time."
Ben stood up. "Tomorrow -- brunch at Mom and Dad's?"
"Of course." She got to her feet and walked him to the door.
"Do you want me to pick you up?"
"No, I'll meet you there. I have some errands to run in the morning."
"Okay." Ben paused. "Tomorrow would be a good time to sit down with Mother and pick a date."
"I haven't said yes yet. You don't want to rush me into a quick decision, do you?''
"As a matter of fact..."
"Ben."
"You're right. You need time. But just think about this. Mom and Dad will be celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary this coming June. We could have a double wedding ceremony. They could renew their vows, and
we could pledge ours. It would be incredible, the binding of one generation to another. We could have that, Faith. Who else has that?"
Faith felt a rush of emotion at his beautiful and romantic plan. She, who had never felt tied to anyone, could be connected to generations of Porters, to family traditions, to timeless love. All she had to do was say yes. Before she could utter the word, Ben was gone, giving her the space she'd asked for but no longer wanted.
She thought about calling out for him, then decided against it. She closed the door and leaned against it. Tonight she would dream about the future. And tomorrow -- tomorrow she would say yes.
Chapter Eight
Faith didn't dream about the future. She dreamt about the past -- the distant past.
Dawn rose over the canyon, illuminating the dark lines of "desert varnish'' that streaked the walls. She felt so small here, closed in by the cliffs surrounding her. A lone eagle soared far overhead, and she knew instinctively it was a sign of something. But the knowledge of what it meant lay just beyond her grasp or her memory.
Thunderheads dotted the morning sky, but the air was too dry for it to rain. It hadn't rained in days. The gods were angry. With her, she thought suddenly.
A sense of being watched came over her, and she turned her head, wondering who she would see this time. An old woman stepped through the open doorway of a home tucked into the belly of the cliff. Her face was weather-beaten, having spent a lifetime in the hot desert sun where the wind carved lines in the people's faces as deep as the canyons.
The woman gestured for her to come. She didn't want to leave. The pot wasn't ready yet. She looked down, caught by the realization that she was holding the pot. She traced one of the markings and felt a powerful desire, an elemental sense of lust.
Shocked, Faith looked up and around. There was a man watching her now. It was not the warrior. This man was short and squat. His hair was thick but lifeless, his eyebrows bushy, his mouth set in a fine line. His shadow reached to her bare feet, to the pot, and she held it closer to her breast, feeling a desperate need to protect it.
The Sweetest Thing Page 9