by Dara Girard
“True,” Jessie said slowly, cautiously. “But somehow there seems to be a block.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps the woman needs to pair the stone with something else for a better balance.” She then gave him ideas for a possible necklace or ring design. BJ nodded and pretended to listen, wondering if there would ever come a day when he was forced to tell her who the stone truly belonged to.
Chapter 8
She didn’t like being ignored.
And she’d been ignored for an entire week.
Michelle stood in front of her office window trying to come up with a strategy for her next attack. She’d tried to be civil, but Martha hadn’t replied to her messages or emails. Michelle stared out at a lost purple balloon floating up to the clear blue sky and imagined the crying child who would miss it. At six she’d had that happen to her at a fair. A kind cartoon character had handed her the smiley faced balloon, and not being used to attention from strangers, she’d cherished and wanted to keep it forever. Although her father had fastened it around her wrist, he’d been distracted because little Jessie wouldn’t keep still and escaped from her push chair to run, so the knot he tied loosened and too late Michelle’s cherished bright yellow balloon floated to the sky. She’d cried all the way home, not caring how her parents told her they would get her another one. She knew it wouldn’t be the same. She felt the helpless pain of loss.
But she wouldn’t cry now. She would fight.
If Martha wouldn’t reply then she’d go one step further. Michelle pulled out her appointment book and saw the number she had never thought she’d call again. She hesitated then sat down behind her desk. It was the only way.
The phone connected on the first ring. “I was waiting for this moment,” Martha said.
Surprised by hearing the sudden voice from the past, Michelle absently opened her upper desk drawer. Roy’s knife winked up at her. She quickly closed it. “I’m sorry?”
“I wondered how long it would take for you to call me. When did you get the notice?”
“Last week.”
“You’ve become more patient.”
“You won’t return my calls. I left you messages and emails.”
“But you took your time calling me at this number.”
Because I didn’t want to speak to you. She’d wanted to keep it professional—distance. Calling Martha’s personal line made the exchange something more.
“Meet me this Saturday. I’ll send your assistant the details.”
“You can talk to me over the phone. Why should I meet with you?”
“If you want to save your business, you won’t ask questions, you’ll do as I say.” She disconnected.
Michelle sighed. Martha Winfield was too used to getting her own way. They’d won this round, but just as she’d suspected they had something up their sleeves. Why did she want to see her? What did they really want? Michelle knew the only way to answer her questions was to do as she asked—for now. She wouldn’t dance to their tune for long.
Michelle pounded her fist on the desk and swore. She had to learn not to hate her. But the jealousy was still there. Michelle thought of Martha and sighed with regret. Now she had to face the woman who James really loved. The only woman he trusted without hesitation. Not his wife, his grandmother. The one woman who could be by his side, hold his heart and keep him. Not because he was a ‘momma’s boy’ that was too simplistic a term.
No, it was because she’d never captured his heart. He hadn’t loved her that way. She hadn’t been strong enough to persuade his heart to be hers. She was the failure. It had been her secret fear when she’d first met him. That what they had was all too good to be true.
This wonderful, smart, handsome, funny man had tried to love her, but in the end hadn’t. That was the true sting. Not the ultimate rejection but the fact that it had all been built on a lie. She’d loved him more than he’d loved her.
She regretted letting herself believe in a fairy tale. She hadn’t imagined a happily-ever-after but she had imagined commitment and devotion for life. At least her sisters had managed what she’d failed to do. She’d make sure no one ever knew the truth. How much she’d failed at something she’d worked so hard to attain.
But at least now she could put the past to rest.
Martha set down the phone and looked across her expansive hotel suite at the expectant face of one of her three sons. At fifty-five he looked a decade younger with the a heavy set build that most people mistook for overindulgence. But he was a man with a sharp mind and regulated habits. Those habits made her feel comfortable that the family business was in good hands. He was the only one she trusted to help her. “It’s done.”
His brows shot up in surprise. “She’ll come?”
“I told you she would.”
He sighed. “I don’t know why we couldn’t just ask her to help—”
Martha shook her head, cutting off his words. “After the way this family has treated her I doubt she’d want to do us any favors.”
“But for James’s sake.”
Martha held up her hand touched by his affection for his nephew. “Your only job is to make sure your siblings don’t find out about this.”
“I won’t tell them. But are you certain this is the only way?”
“We’ve run out of options,” Martha said with grim finality. “It has to work.”
Chapter 9
Teresa waited patiently as she sat in Bertha Walker’s living room among a colorful assortment of plants, glass jars and quilted print pillows. She clasped her hands together as she waited for her friend and mentor to interpret her vision.
Bertha looked at Teresa, briefly touched the large purple turban on her head, which seemed to give her small frame the height that it needed, then said, “Your sister is going on a journey and you have to let her go.”
Teresa blinked at the older woman. That was it? Bertha was known in the Jamaican immigrant community as a woman who possessed wisdom and foresight. After telling her the detail of her dream, Teresa had expected something else—something more profound. Teresa cleared her throat, wondering if she’d misunderstood her. Did she mean a spiritual journey of some sort? “Let her go where? Is she in danger? Is she in trouble? Why would she need to travel?”
“Those questions will be answered when she returns.”
Teresa frowned. “Travel from where? It’s not like you to speak in riddles.”
Bertha shrugged, hearing the frustration in her young friend’s voice but taking no notice. She’d lived long enough to know to accept life’s ups and downs. “I’m saying there’s nothing you can do, but be here for Michelle when she returns. And she may not return alone. When that happens you come to me.”
Teresa leaned forward eager for more guidance and insight. “James…does it have anything to do with him?”
“The monster?”
Teresa nodded.
Bertha pursed her lips, a flash of annoyance crossing her face. “Was I not at your sister’s wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think I would have stayed silent if I thought James was dangerous to her?”
Teresa lowered her head properly chastised. Of course Bertha had been at the wedding. How could she have forgotten that? She had met James. But something still bothered her.
“Did you ever shake his hand?”
Bertha sighed. “You are a tenacious one.”
“The last time I saw Michelle she wasn’t wearing her ring. She said she was getting it fixed. She’s never been without it before. I know I might be chasing shadows, but since Michelle hasn’t told me anything, I’ve started making up stories.”
Bertha paused and closed her eyes. “There’s a third presence.” She opened her eyes and stared at her. “A dark presence they must both face if they want to ever be together again. That’s all I can tell you.” When Teresa opened her mouth Bertha shook her head. “You are to do nothing but wait and give her space to come to you when she needs to.”
> “What if she never does?”
Bertha flashed a knowing grin. “She will. It’s time for her and James to heal the wounds of the past.”
The Past
Chapter 10
Almost seven years ago…
The man did a double take.
It was the first time that had happened to Michelle in all her twenty-one years. She glanced behind her to make sure the man had been staring at her. She may have been mistaken. The 400-room castle tucked among a rolling English hillside was undoubtedly awe inspiring at every turn from grand state apartments to private rooms filled with ornate wood carvings and painted ceilings. So it was understandable that there must be some aspect of the grand hall behind her that had caught the man’s attention.
Michelle looked up at the large window behind her. Aside from an astounding view of the gardens below, which he couldn’t see from where he was standing, there was only the blue sky dotted with white clouds.
Michelle turned back to the man.
Their eyes met. His a deep, magnificent brown that clung to hers like a shared secret. Her heart picked up speed. It wasn’t a mistake. He was staring at her. Nothing else. Nobody else. Only her.
She absently remembered seeing him come into the grand hall with his head held down instead of looking up at the opulent surroundings. She’d noticed the tall black man at the beginning of the tour because he looked bored. The kind of man who could look at a glorious sunset and yawn. That kind of indifference surprised her. He had a dark, broodingly handsome air about him. He seemed too old to be a college student like her and too young to be with the traveling seniors who were part of another tour group. She noticed the older, finely dressed, attractive woman by his side as well as the older man, (he was not as old as the woman, in his forties perhaps), also finely dressed with average features. He seemed to be more interested in what the tour guide, an animated young woman with big teeth, said than the actual surroundings.
Both people didn’t seem to suit him. Like the castle, the man had an ancient proud air—the profile of a king, the gait of a warrior. So when the tour took them to the grand hall Michelle glanced at him curious to see his response. Would his lip curl in disdain? His eyes squint with disinterest? Had he been forced to come? But he’d disappointed her by keeping his gaze on the ground until he abruptly glanced up at her with the same disinterested gaze he’d had with everything else before he turned away. But then miraculously, amazingly, he had turned to look at her again. It was a strange and rare thing to experience.
People rarely looked at her once, let alone twice. Especially men. She was well aware of her unremarkably plain features. Everyone knew the Clifton sisters lacked any spark of beauty. They weren’t even handsome, just plain, ‘plain as dishwater’ one aunt liked to say, and after facing that rather cruel truth, she’d accepted it and knew she would use her intellect to get what she wanted.
In time, someone would see past her dull outer shell to the woman within but until that happened she would travel, dress in the best clothes she could buy, learn new things and enjoy life. Which was why this summer abroad in England had been so exciting, but now this stranger—this annoyingly handsome stranger—had looked at her twice. Maybe it was because she’d been looking at him and he’d sensed it. Michelle felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. It wasn’t like her to be curious about someone like this. She wouldn’t look at him again. It had been foolish of her to follow him with her eyes in the first place. Like a teenager with a crush.
She glanced at the large dining table teeming with history, then up at the candelabra above it, resisting the urge to steal another glance at him. She was certain he’d looked away, but she didn’t want to take the risk. Yes, it was all just a moment. It was silly of her to think it could have been more. Only certain woman experienced the power of entering a room and having all eyes turn to them then stop and gaze in awe and wonder. Once, as a child, she had allowed herself to dream that, but then, over time became more sensible with the help of her mother. “No use wishing for things to be what they are not,” she said in her clipped English tones. “Best to make use of what you have. That’s the key to a woman’s power.”
Power. That was another problem. She had a tad too much of it. Of all the Clifton sisters hers was the most intimidating. No one feared Jessie and her ability to read stones. It was harmless and, yes, most people thought that Teresa was odd with her ability to read energy and heal with herbs. But again…harmless. Eccentric. Different.
But if anyone truly knew what Michelle could do they would be frightened. Plain faced and with frightening abilities—what an unfortunate mixture. At ten years old, she’d even overheard her parents discussing her fate while her mother tended her garden.
“She will suffer the most, poor thing,” her father had said.
Her mother pulled out a weed and set it to the side. “She doesn’t have to know.”
“But she will find out eventually. It’s best that we tell her now so that she doesn’t make any mistakes.”
“Marrying will be difficult. Men will use her if they know.” She sighed. “I don’t think she’ll marry or should. Most of her type don’t. Few men can handle it. Fortunately, she won’t be alone. Her sisters will always be there for her and she will be there for them.”
“She will be fine and she will marry.”
Her mother grabbed another weed. “That’s the problem with you you’re always so optimistic.”
“Worry is misuse of the imagination.”
Michelle came around the corner. “Is there something wrong with me?”
“No, my dear,” her father said with a wide grin. “You’re perfect as you are.”
But her father always liked to say things like that. She’d learned early not to believe him. Although she loved him he couldn’t always be trusted. He lived in the clouds where she preferred her feet firmly on land. As did her mother.
Michelle let her gaze slide towards the stranger’s direction. Curiosity winning over caution. The man was gone. It had been a silly, fleeting moment. She glanced down at herself wondering what could have warranted the second glance. Wishing, just a little, that he had come over and said something to her. Anything. Even something banal. Something that would have given her the chance to hold his gaze, his interest, just a little while longer. Because in that brief moment she’d seen something beautiful and familiar in his eyes that felt like home.
Chapter 11
James stumbled out of the grand hall into the dark hallway, gripping his chest. Not sure he could breathe. Not sure he could remain standing for much longer, but he had to. He had to recover. He would not collapse. If he did his mother wouldn’t let him out again. He’d be stuck in his chair and in the some vast, over adorned room again. I knew this trip to England would be too much for you, she would say. We should have gone to the islands. This had been his chance to prove that he was better and strong enough to be on his own, but now that was being threatened. By a woman.
His assistant, Graham Hicks, rushed up to him, taking his hand. “I knew this would be too much for you.”
“I’m fine. I…I just need to catch my breath.”
“Climbing all those stairs. If your mother—”
“I just…need…some air.” He tugged on his collar. His skin feeling prickly, the hallway beginning to spin. No he couldn’t’ collapse, not here. Please not here. Not when he’d come so far. He stumbled forward. He just needed some air.
“Is he all right?”
James had never heard that voice before, but somehow he knew who it belonged to. It belonged to her. The woman wearing a pair of dark jeans and a black jacket with a proud stance and silver earrings.
“Yes, he’s fine,” Graham said in a voice that made it clear he didn’t want or need assistance. But the woman didn’t seem to care because suddenly James felt her long, cool fingers on his forearm and in a low voice she said, “Of course he’s fine. He’s very strong. He’s always been strong. And right now h
is breathing is calm, his heart is steady and he is perfectly fine.”
And her words had the power of a spell being cast. Soon the hallway stopped spinning, his heart beat steadied as did his breathing, but, most strange of all, were his limbs. They felt weightless, his back and spine feeling straight when for weeks he’d been a little hunched over making him feel years older than his actual age. He felt as if he could run, jump, fly. Just by the touch of her hand and her words. He spun around to her, desperate to face her. “What are you?” The moment he said the words he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Something came over her features and she took a step back.
“Excuse me.” She walked past them.
James reached for her but she moved too quickly. “No, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“There you are,” his mother said hurrying towards him, her heels clicking against the floor. “What were you thinking coming up here? You look flushed. You’ve been overexerting yourself.”
“No, I’m fine,” James said, watching the woman disappear into the crowd. “I have to go.”
“It’s time we go back to the flat.”
“Not yet. There’s something I have to do.”
“The doctor said—”
He didn’t care. He pushed past his mother and headed for where the woman had disappeared. She looked as if she was headed towards the gardens. He couldn’t lose her. He just needed a name, something. He hurried down the stairs.