Julian paled slightly. "In your dreams?"
"Yes. It's not like a normal dream where I'm still myself. It's like I'm someone else, then I'm not. I'm watching it, and I'm living it at the same time. I know it sounds crazy. I feel crazy."
"You're not crazy. You're caught, a conduit to the past. The old Indian said it could happen. He was talking about Suzannah at the time, but perhaps he also meant you."
"I wasn't even born when you took the pot."
"I don't think that matters. It's your spirit, a friendly spirit that they would want."
"That who wants?"
"Oh, come on. Friendly spirits? The two of you sound ridiculous," Alex interjected. "You've gone overboard, Grandfather, even for you."
Julian ignored him. So did Faith. She was more interested in his grandfather's tale.
"What exactly do you mean, Mr. Carrigan?"
"The spirits want your help. That's why they speak to you. That's why they spoke to Suzannah. They need someone to undo the harm I did."
"Then why don't they speak to you?" Faith asked.
Julian hesitated. "I haven't told you everything. I'm not sure I should. I never meant to endanger you, to bring the curse down upon your head. You must believe me."
"What haven't you told me?"
"That pots such as these were sometimes buried with the dead, holding their spirits together for all of eternity." He lowered his voice dramatically. "When I took the pot, I disturbed the spirits. I broke the sacred bond between two lovers. And that is why I will never know true love, nor will anyone in my family -- not until I take the pot back, until I reunite the lovers, who are lost in eternity."
"Oh, my God," Faith whispered. She knew the tale was true. She'd seen it in her dreams.
"They want your help," Julian said. "The question is -- will you give it?"
Chapter Nine
"The question is -- will you believe this bullshit?" Alex put a hand on Faith's shoulder and spun her around to face him. "My grandfather tells a great story. Applaud if you must, but please, please think twice about believing him. I can't tell you how many times I've bought in to his story, only to have him yell 'gotcha' at the end."
Faith looked into Alex's worried blue eyes, wondering if he was truly concerned about her or something else.
"I'm not yelling 'gotcha.' " Julian drew her attention back to him. "Not this time."
"Not this time? You couldn't tell the truth if your life depended on it," Alex replied.
"This is the truth, Alex, and my life does depend on it. More importantly, so does yours. And perhaps Miss Faith's as well." Julian gazed into Faith's eyes with simple sincerity. "I hope you will believe me. I am telling the truth. Perhaps I led you on a bit in regards to Alex putting me in an old folks' home. But this is the truth."
"See, I told you." Alex pounced on Julian's words. "He was lying then, and he's lying now."
"Everything I've told you about Suzannah is true."
Faith sighed, not sure whom to believe. She was saved from a reply when Jessie walked into the room.
"Is there someone in the bathroom?" Jessie asked, looking sleepy and bemused. "The door is closed and I need to take a piss."
Her pragmatically crude statement cut through the lingering mist of ancient legends and curses. For a moment there was silence, then Alex started to laugh. "This is the real world, Faith -- crotchety old grandfathers who want to relive their youth and irritating children who should have their mouths washed out with soap."
"What did I say?" Jessie demanded. "Shit. I just want to go to the head."
"Where have you been living?" Alex asked. "And more importantly, who have you been living with? I know Melanie didn't talk that way."
Melanie? Faith wondered if Melanie was Jessie's mother, which was immediately followed by the question of what had happened between Melanie and Alex that had left him with custody of a child he didn't seem to think was his.
"Melanie talked whatever way she was supposed to. She could do southern," Jessie said with a perfect drawl, "or New York," she added with nasal intonation. "But she was really good at sweet talk. That's what got so many dudes using our head, you know?"
It was clear that Alex didn't know, that he was as baffled by Jessie as he appeared to be baffled by Julian. In fact, Alex seemed completely out of step with everyone in his family. His expression reminded Faith of that little boy on the steps he'd described earlier. He wasn't a boy now, but he still looked lost.
"There's no one in the bathroom," Alex said finally. "You can use it. But clean up your act while you're here, Jess."
"Fine," she grumbled.
As Jessie ambled off, Alex said, "I need coffee." He glanced at Faith. "I suppose you'll still be here when it's ready?"
"I would like to see the pot again."
"I can't convince you, can I?"
Faith slowly shook her head. "I'm not choosing to believe your grandfather over you. I'm simply keeping an open mind."
"Right."
Faith let out a breath as Alex left the room. "He doesn't like me."
Julian's gaze followed Alex down the hall. "I'm afraid he likes you too much. He doesn't want to see you get hurt -- by me."
"I don't think you could hurt me."
"I hurt Alex, more times than I realized. It's no wonder he doesn't believe in anything. I put the doubts there."
Faith knew she shouldn't pry, but she wanted to know more about Alex, why he seemed such a contradiction, so strong and yet so vulnerable. "He said his mom ran out on him when he was a boy."
Julian looked surprised. "He told you that?"
"I don't think he meant to. I was looking at a photograph, the one on the mantel."
"Alex's mother loved him, but she suffered the curse of the Carrigans as we all did. Or perhaps I should say her husband, my son Brett, suffered the curse, and in turn she was touched by it as well. Brett couldn't be satisfied with one woman."
"But to leave her child behind..." The concept had always been unacceptable to Faith, perhaps because she, too, had been left behind.
"The man she wanted didn't want Alex. She made a choice."
"That's terrible."
"I don't think she truly realized how badly she hurt Alex until much later. She thought that by leaving him with Brett, she was giving him the male influence that he needed. But Brett never paid Alex much attention. He was too busy making a name for himself as a photographer. And I was too busy getting married and divorced to notice," Julian added with a shameful smile. "We're a self-centered bunch, we Carrigans. I wouldn't advise getting involved with Alex."
Faith squared her shoulders. "I have no intention of getting involved with Alex." She forced herself not to think about their almost kiss. It hadn't happened. It wouldn't happen. He'd told her she wasn't his type, and he certainly wasn't hers. She wanted a family and a family man, someone who'd be around forever. Someone like Ben. "Just show me the pot and I'll be on my way."
* * *
A half hour later Faith sat cross-legged on the end of Julian's bed. She'd meant to leave after seeing the pot, after convincing herself it was nothing like the one in her dream. Unfortunately, seeing the pot had only made the images reappear in her head along with the strong smell of wood smoke. She'd asked Julian if he smelled it, too, but he'd only smiled and said no, all the while watching her as if he thought she might go into a trance.
She'd also questioned him about the markings. He pointed to one and said it meant marriage or love; he wasn't quite sure if there was a distinction. Faith had a feeling there was a definite distinction.
Then Julian had switched the conversation to Suzannah, which was why she was now being handed a packet of letters, faded yellow with age.
"What are you doing?" Jessie asked, walking into the room with a bowl of cereal in her hand. She took a slurping bite, then sat down on the window seat across from Faith.
"I'm showing Faith my letters from Suzannah," Julian replied. He took a seat in the straight
-back chair in front of the desk. "We began as pen pals, you know. It was a class project between two schools. I was living in Connecticut at the time, and Suzannah lived in Burbank, California. We started out with the usual small talk about our favorite ice cream -- strawberry -- what we liked to do -- watch old movies -- then moved on to more personal things as we came to know each other."
"Cool," Jessie said.
"Perhaps Miss Faith will read one aloud for you. My eyesight isn't what it used to be."
Then why did his eyes look so sharp and so clear? Faith wondered, as she undid the ivory-colored ribbon that held the letters together.
"I can't believe you kept the letters," Faith mused. "I didn't think men were all that sentimental."
"We can be on occasion." He reached for a letter written on pink stationery. "Read this one."
Faith opened the envelope and slid the letter out. The paper still carried a lingering scent of a woman's perfume.
Dear Julian:
I sprayed the stationery with my favorite scent. I love gardenias. In fact, I'm wearing one in my hair right now. Whenever you smell gardenias I want you to think of me.
If my aunt saw me now, she'd make me take the flower out of my hair. She thinks everything I do is wicked. Last Saturday she found me dancing around the house in my shorts. She said dancing like that was a sin, so I had to say a lot of extra prayers.
Did I tell you my aunt has this crazy idea that I should marry her best friend's son? He's old, almost twenty-five, and he's studying to be a minister. I want to attend college or go to New York and dance in a show. My aunt thinks I should get married. She said girls don't need college, they need husbands.
I wish you were here, Julian. I wish I could see you and you could see me. I feel like you 're the only one in the world who understands me.
Write back soon, Julian. Your letters fill my heart with such joy.
Love, Suzannah
Faith smiled at the romantic ramblings of a young girl on the brink of womanhood. "She sounds lovely and young."
Julian smiled back. "She was seventeen, a senior in high school. We were both a little bit lonely, a little bit different. Suzannah liked to dance. I liked to act. Neither one of us fit in at our high schools. Maybe that's why we were so drawn to each other."
"I've never met anyone who fell in love by mail. It's nice. You liked her before you knew what she looked like. Nowadays there's so much importance placed on physical attraction." An image of Alex immediately floated through her head, but Faith pushed it away. "Your attraction to Suzannah must have been mental and emotional, at least in the beginning."
"And in the end. I loved her very much. She is my biggest regret."
"Did you screw her?" Jessie asked.
"Jessie!" Faith looked at the girl in astonishment.
"That is a personal question," Julian said, with an edge to his voice. "And one I don't intend to answer, young lady."
"Melanie said everyone screws before they're seventeen. She was fourteen. And I'm almost thirteen, so I figure I'll be doing it soon," Jessie said pragmatically.
"You won't do anything of the kind," Faith said firmly, disregarding the fact that this girl was none of her business.
"What's it to you? You're not my mother."
"Maybe not, but I'm a woman, and I can tell you for a fact that doing it before you're ready, which is not at fourteen, is a huge mistake."
"Why? Sex is no big deal."
"Oh, Jessie, it's a very big deal."
Jessie made a face and lifted the cereal bowl to her lips, drinking the last bit of milk. When she finished she had a milk mustache and an even younger appearance.
"You should talk to Alex," Faith said.
"Alex doesn't care what I do."
"I'm sure that's not true."
"What do you know?" Jessie got up from the window seat and left the room.
Faith sighed. "I guess she told me."
"Jessie is a frightened little girl. Despite her rather colorful language and boasting statements, I don't think she's nearly as confident or secure as she appears to be."
"No," Faith agreed, thinking of the children she'd grown up with at various homes. While she'd often retreated into a make-believe world of books and movies, some of the other kids had reacted like Jessie, attacking the world before it attacked them.
Faith stood up and set the letters on the bed. "I'll have to read the rest later. I'm supposed to be somewhere in a few minutes." She paused. "If you'll write down what you know about Suzannah, her first name, last name, middle name, birthdate, place of birth, anything you can remember, I'll stop by the library and look it up on the Internet."
"Oh, yes, of course. I was thinking of going to the library and hunting through the white pages, but I'd forgotten that people get around so much faster these days."
"Well, it will be a start, Mr. Carrigan. We may not find anything."
"But you'll help me?"
"I don't seem to have any other choice. Alex was right."
"I was right about what?" Alex entered the room with two mugs of steaming coffee. He handed one to his grandfather and the other to Faith. "I added a little cream and sugar to yours. You seem the type."
Faith accepted the mug and took a small sip. "Perfect. That's frightening."
"Almost as frightening as believing I was actually right about something," he said with a grin. "So enlighten me."
"You won't like it."
"That doesn't surprise me."
"Well, you were right about me being caught by your grandfather's story. I'm going to help him find Suzannah." Faith sent Alex a challenging look. There was more between them than a simple disagreement over a legend. Alex didn't want her in his life. He was controlled, organized, methodical, and logical. She could see it in the orderly appearance of his apartment, the starkness of the furniture, the clipped tones of his voice. He didn't want to be attracted to her because she was the opposite of him, emotional and sentimental.
She should be grateful that he didn't want her. He wasn't the right man for her either. She wanted a man who would commit, marry, have children, and be her best friend as well as her lover. She'd only known Alex for two days, but instinctively she knew he was not that man.
But he was awfully attractive, she thought with a sigh, and he had a way of looking at a woman that made her feel like she was the only one in the room.
"So what's the next step?" Alex asked, his expression now carefully guarded.
"The Internet."
"A little computer investigation, huh?" Alex turned to the door. "I'm going to clean up, then take off to the office, Grandfather. Can you keep an eye on Jessie? I'll be gone for a couple of hours."
"I suppose." Julian leaned over the desk where he was writing something down on a pad of paper. He ripped off the top page and handed it to Faith. "That's the information you'll need to find Suzannah."
"Thanks. I'll call you later if I find anything. Oh, Alex." She ran her St. Christopher medal through her fingers as she faced his questioning glance. "Could I ask a favor of you?"
"What's that?"
She tipped her head toward the fractured pot lying in a box on Julian's desk. "Would you pick up the pot?"
"Why?"
"Because I asked you to. He hasn't touched it, has he?" Faith asked Julian.
The old man shook his head. "No, but it won't matter, Miss Faith."
"You don't know that."
Alex looked from Julian to her. "Is it booby-trapped?"
How could she answer that question in view of her recent nightmares? "I don't know. Touch it and tell me if you hear anything or if you smell anything."
Alex shrugged and walked over to the desk. He picked up the pot and held it in both hands, then up to one ear. "I might be able to get the Giants game if I tilt it."
"You don't hear anything." Faith felt incredibly disappointed. If he was the warrior in her dream, why didn't he hear the voices, feel the heat of the fire, the brush of the wind
? Why didn't he smell the damn smoke that was even now creeping over her senses? "Never mind."
"Here, you hold it," Alex said, handing her the pot.
She reached out to push it away, but even the small contact sent a jolt of electricity through her.
"No, take it away."
When Alex didn't immediately comply, she repeated her command. "Now. Do it now." She suddenly felt like she couldn't breathe. The snake was back, wrapping itself around her neck. She pulled at the neckline of her shirt, trying to breathe.
"What's wrong with you?" Alex demanded, still holding the pot between his hands.
Faith couldn't answer. She felt hot, light-headed, dizzy. She couldn't breathe. She closed her eyes and couldn't open them. Her feet wouldn't move, and she felt herself sink to the floor.
"Faith?" Alex's voice called to her. Or was it the warrior?
Chapter Ten
Ben parked behind his mother's dark green mini-van and walked up the driveway to his parents' house. His parents had bought this house in the Westlake District of South San Francisco just after their first wedding anniversary, and they'd never lived anywhere else. The trees they'd planted all those years ago had grown and flourished just as their children had grown and flourished, nourished by a loving family.
Nancy was a strong believer in putting down roots, in making things last. Their lives were steeped in longstanding traditions -- the same rosebushes bloomed year after year, the house was always repainted off-white, and as sure as the sun came up, his father would seek the morning paper with a cup of coffee in his hand. There were never any surprises in the Porter household. At least there hadn't been until Gary had died, upsetting everything.
Hadn't Gary known Porter men were supposed to live into their eighties? It was tradition.
Ben's gut twisted at the reminder of his loss. Gary was gone. He couldn't take over the Porter family as intended. That would be left to the second son -- to Ben. He was afraid he'd blow it. And if he blew it, there'd be nothing left of the family. In fact, he knew that he could single-handedly destroy the peace and contentment his parents had taken forty years to build.
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