Mother came one day and gently insisted I come with her out to have some lunch, just to get some fresh air. It had been four weeks since Andy’s crew had completely disappeared and still no one had heard a thing.
She managed to cheer me up with her perfect motherly way, convincing me to stay strong and not lose hope and think about what Andy would want me to do. I shed a tear but with a bittersweet half smile, and rose to put some real clothes on.
I put on a dress to perk me up and in the back of my mind was something I also wanted to speak with her about, personally. I knew just the one, the Alexander McQueen silk chiffon sweet pea gown I had been saving for something special and for the day and purposes it was perfect. We ate al fresco and I turned down wine.
“I’m surprised with everything going on that you, too haven’t been drinking more. I always do when I’m really stressed about something to take the edge off. Although Cash has taken things a bit far by the looks of his eyes, I understand why. How has he been?” Mother asked.
“Not so good,” I said, “but having me to take care of helps him hang in there… I haven’t wanted alcohol though, lately.”
We ordered and ate and I stared off a lot the way I had been. With thoughts of emptiness and Andy at sea.Praying. It was so good to be with mother, and really just being with her relaxed and energized me. I wanted to talk to her about what was on my mind so bad but I just couldn’t find the words. Something was missing, it wasn’t time yet.
We pulled up to the house and she offered to walk me up but I told her I’d be okay and how lovely the afternoon was and thanked her and hugged her. Before I went in to our place I happened to glance at my phone, which I realized had been off, when I saw 29 missed calls!
My heart was skipping beats and it was Cash calling. Shit. What happened? I started panting, and felt I just couldn’t take it, couldn’t take any news. He wouldn’t call me like that unless it was big news or he really needed me badly. I walked up to see if he was home before calling him and didn’t see him, so I went to call him on his cell when I thought I heard his voice outside. I went out the living room doors to the terrace and nearly had a heart attack. Andy!
Andy! I ran crying to Andy and Cash sitting on the terrace and they stood, I jumped to hug Andy and never let him go. I sobbed my eyes out and held him so tight. With my tear covered face buried in his chest I didn’t care where he had been I just didn’t want to ever let him go. I looked at Cash and he was wiping the tears running down his cheeks.
“We were going to die, Andy,” I spoke out crying, looking into his eyes, “we were going to die without you.”
He hugged me so tight and so gently saying, “I’m so sorry babe, I’m okay. I won’t leave you. I’m right here.” I held on to him tight and from the side looked at Cash and outstretched my arm for him to come and take my hand. He came near and I looked at both of them with crying tears.
Still sobbing, I said, “I’m pregnant.”
Both of their jaws dropped and I don’t remember the remarks of shock but with smiles and confirmations it quickly turned to sobbing laughter and we were all hugging. I cried through my tears how I’d known for a while, and couldn’t bear to think of it with him gone.
“It must’ve been that morning, my birthday,” I said. We were the happiest three we could be. We didn’t know who’s it was, we didn’t know if it would be a boy or a girl, but we knew—all of us now, that we were going to have a baby, a family. Being submerged in the most beautiful and sweet love in the world, all my worries about us having a child melted away as all the other worries did and I knew we were going to be just fine.
THE END
Another bonus story is on the next page.
Bonus Story 26 of 44
When Gods Die
Description
“Paris in the Spring”. Could there be any other words so simple that evoke such feelings of serenity, desire and perhaps even longing?
For the wizard Frederica Ramona-Lynda Delarosa, springtime in Paris was always nothing short of a beloved pilgrimage. Idling on the Champs de Mars, she would let the warm sunshine, the scent of lilacs, and the laughter of children sooth away her troubles and cares.
Until the year that Spring didn’t come.
And so at the behest of her uncle, she and her sister Erica commandeer the young billionaire Scott Winsted’s yacht, and sail the southern seas on a quest to return a sacred jewel stolen from Persephone, in the hope to mollify the Goddess of Spring.
In this light-hearted fantasy, Frederica encounters a witch’s deception, intrigue, the chance of love, and the North Korean Navy.
But in the end, she and her companions learn the sad and hopeful truth of what might happen when gods die.
*****
Ever since she was a young girl in the blush of her first real romance, Frederica had fallen in love with the Champs de Mars. She had lost the boy, but her affair with Paris was forever. And so when the first hints of the season poked about, she was always lured back.
The grand park had been so much lovelier in those days, before they erected that hideous tower. It was a quieter time. People would picnic, children would play, their silvery laughter filling the lilac scented air, boys would woo girls, and kites would fill the sky while crocuses blossomed on the ground. There was a general feeling of peace.
Over the years, Frederica would return as often as she could to watch as gentle Persephone would work her magic, and her magic always brought that wonderful sense of serenity. Even during those awful wars, the place was a refuge. It was as if antagonists and defenders alike understood its sacred nature, and while armies would march in triumph, they would never ruffle a leaf.
But the people of France had always recognized their special nature in the scheme of the universe. They had long ago beaten their swords into plowshares, horseshoes and hair-pins, and they strolled slowly and carefully behind as the world ran forward. Time passed, but people still picnicked, children still played, boys still wooed girls or other boys, girls wooed girls, and kites still filled the sky while blossoms bloomed bathing the park with the scent of hope.
But that spring something felt wrong.
Perhaps it was her, she thought.
Just that winter she had clashed with a coven of witches who had a ludicrous notion to steal the New Year, as if a sidereal orbit was a thing to be stolen. She had wormed her way through time-lines, and at last had to battle bureaucrats to get there. She was tired. She just wanted to relax in the Paris spring.
And so she nestled her favorite corner of grass and waited for the magic.
But it didn’t come.
She sipped her tea from a styrofoam cup, remembering a time when she would make it herself and bring a thermos. She watched the children play. Their laughter was still silver and their kites still danced in the sky. People were still laughing and happy, but many sat alone, laughing and happy with their little black mirrors, their thumbs more animate than they were.
And then a shadow crossed her cup. She looked up.
“Uncle Jon,” she said shutting her eyes.
The after image stayed behind her eyelids. He was standing in front of the sun, but his silhouette was stark; his curly hair, his broad-shoulders, his stance, even the tails of his morning coat.
“Hello Fred,” he said. “May I join you?”
“What if I said no?”
“I brought scones,” he said making himself at home on her blanket. “Fresh from that bakery you love so much, the one on Rue Sedilliot.”
“What do you want?”
“Oh my,” he said. “I want so many things. I want Gilda to get her head out of her ass and consolidate the wizards in the Baltic States. I want Trilby to take over in America. I want those idle-brained Leonites to come to their senses and stop fighting among themselves. But most of all –”
“But most of all,” Frederica said smiling. “You came to Paris because you want me.”
“More to the point,” he said. “I want s
pringtime.”
His words were sharp.
“It takes time,” she said. “The planet is warming. You’ve read about this climate alteration thing. If the goddess is somewhat befuddled by strange changes then— “
“It is different than that.”
Frederica sat up. She sipped her tea. She looked to her uncle. In the sky, kites lazed.
“Persephone,” the man said, “is not herself. I believe that she is depressed, ergo no crocuses or lilacs.”
“Depressed?”
“Yes.”
“She’s depressed,” Fred said, “and so we are deprived. I could smack that snotty entitled bitch.”
“I would advise against that,” Jon said, munching his scone. “Snotty and entitled as she may be, she is still a goddess and so must be placated. And that, my dear Fred, is what you must do. I’d like to send you on a job.”
“No.”
“A quest of sorts,” he said. “You might actually find it amusing. You see, every year when she returns to the Underworld, Hades celebrates her homecoming with a gift. Last autumn, he gave her an orb in the form of a pomegranate.”
“A pomegranate?”
“I understand that the little pips inside are rubies.”
“How is she supposed to open it?”
“I haven’t the foggiest,” he said. “I’ve never seen the thing. But you will.”
“No I won’t,” she replied.
“Word on the wind is that the bauble has been stolen. It’s in the South Seas somewhere. Vanuatu, I hear. The islands are lovely this time of year. So what I’d like you to do is pop down there, have a look around, find the sacred pomegranate and return it to her. Shouldn’t take you much more than a week or so. Then we can all get back to enjoying the season. Have another scone?”
“What if I refuse?” she asked.
“Then I’ll eat it.”
“Moron,” she said. “I mean what if I refuse to go tramping about on your silly quest? What happens then to spring? What happens to me?”
“Well,” he said. “As to the spring, I suppose I’ll need to find someone else to help bring back the lilacs.”
“Then do so.”
“And as to you, well my dear nothing will happen.”
“Nothing will happen?”
“Ever.”
She took up the scone.
“You are going to need a little help on with this,” he said.
“I work alone.”
“Not on this one. Time is a thing here. You’ll want a boat for starters.”
She sipped her cold tea and wondered where her passport was.
*****
Mia Elverelli was arguably one of the most beautiful women in the world. The term supermodel was far too vague to describe her. The magazines tried to portray her curves and figure with words such as ‘Amazonian’ and ‘shapely’, but the words rang hollow in her presence; she defined the word ‘woman’. Her firm round breasts grew so naturally from her graceful nymph-like form and her flawless Mediterranean complexion was like a gift to the sun. Her nougat-brown hair waved over her perfect shoulders, framing a face that was at once angelic and devilish. And when she smiled at you, it was as though the gods themselves had absolved you of all transgressions.
And Scott Winsted had her.
She lounged on the aft deck of his yacht Sea-Esta. He had met her at a party the night before. She wasn’t the guest of honor, but she might just as well have been. In her metallic gold gown that clung to her curves like water, she out-sparkled every woman there, and her silvery laugh was more tinklingly delicate than the champagne fountain. She had arrived alone and left with Scott. And while he liked to think that it was his boyish looks, his short rakish beard, his surfer blue eyes and his fetching charm that won her, he knew it was really his money. But that didn’t matter.
That night as he and Mia lay in their afterglow, she had idly mentioned her dream of being stranded on a deserted island with a handsome virile young man, where all they had to do was to make love day and night. By ten o’clock the next morning. the two new lovers were alone on the Sea-Esta sailing the placid waters of the Vanuatu Archipelago in search of isolation.
He had gone down to the galley to mix up some mimosas. He left her lounging topless in the warm sunshine. He had to pause to gaze at those lovely rosy areoles encircling her chocolate nipples. Pulling the cork from the wine bottle, their image stayed with him. As he worked, the ship shifted a little in an odd way; it was as though the aft had risen slightly and then settled. He wasn’t sure where that had come from. The ship swayed a little and he felt a small tingling sensation like static electricity all over his skin. He figured he knew where that had come from. He smiled and danced up on deck and Mia was gone.
He looked about, but she was nowhere to be seen on deck. He scanned the water, but saw nothing. He called to her, but there was no answer. He called below. Nothing. He shrugged and sat by her lounge chair, set her drink down, sipped his own and waited. She was no doubt in the ladies’ room. He slid the brim of his cap over his eyes, settled back, soaking in the rays and feeling the ocean roll slowly beneath him.
“Oh this is yummy,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said smiling.
He thought that he heard something odd about her voice. He reached out to pat her hand.
“I haven’t had real champagne in ages,” she said.
Her words suddenly had a distinct British ring. He stroked her hand, thinking that she was joking with him. He moved his fingertips to glide up that silken arm – and he froze the moment he touched the cuff of a coat. He pulled up his cap, turned and stared. The woman jerked back her hand.
“Really, Mr. Winsted,” she said. “I mean we hardly know one another.”
She was most assuredly not Mia. The woman in the lounge was a full head and shoulders shorter. Her long hair was a rusty, strawberry blonde. Her face was small and round, and with a slightly upturned nose she had an almost elfin quality. She wore a long lavender coat, sort of a cross between a driver’s and a frock-coat with many pockets and purple piping along the bottom hem and at the cuffed sleeves. She had on a white silk shirt with a ruffled ascot. Her matching jeans blended into her slender, fit legs and she had on little chestnut colored knee-high boots with straps and buckles.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” she said. “My name is Frederica Ramona-Lynda Delarosa. But you can just call me Fred, everyone else does. We’re the Essex Delarosa’s, not those others. And you are?”
“Fred?”
“No silly, that’s me.”
“Mia?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Where?”
“Oh. I sent her back to Port Villa. She’s at your hotel, poolside. I’m afraid that I couldn’t find her top. She’s going to be a bit embarrassed, but she’ll get over it.”
“Mia.”
“You haven’t been listening.”
Half in shock and half in a daze, Scott stood and backed away from the strange woman. He dashed to the bathroom, but Mia wasn’t there. There was no sign of her. He stood stunned a moment. But he had not gotten where he was in the world by being indecisive in moments of crisis. His first thought was pirates. He grabbed his rifle and flew onto the deck.
“Okay lady,” he said aiming right between her eyes. “If you don’t tell me what you’ve done with Mia right now – “
“I told you. I sent her back to Port Villa. I can do that. I’m a witch, you know.”
Her smile galled him. He kept his cool. He focused.
“Okay then,” he said. “Bring her back now witch or you’re going to be shark bait.”
But even as he spoke an enormous great-white breached the water and slammed its head across the fantail. The ship upended. Scott lost his footing and began sliding toward gaping jaws. His feet skittering frantically, he aimed the weapon, but even as he did the witch yanked at the barrel.
“That’s my sister!” she cried.
*****
The gun-barrel flew high and the shot went wide. Scott wrestled with the girl, but even as he did, the yacht suddenly righted itself. In the sudden motion the girl and the rifle tumbled away. His heart still racing Scott braced himself and looked aft. The behemoth was gone. Instead there a woman leaning on the transom, her head resting on her crossed arms. She was smiling.
She had a sculpted face with thin lips and piercing brown eyes. Her raven hair flowed behind her like gossamer, and to Scott she was almost a vision. For indeed it was as if he were seeing things through a sort of focused haze; the woman’s face clear and bright while everything around her seemed fuzzy.
“Rikki!”
The voice felt so far away.
“Hello Fred,” the enchanting woman said, and as she spoke it was as though his soul sparkled. “Give me a hand, please?”
Frederica got to her feet. She fused with her coat, kicked the weapon out of sight and went to help. She took the woman’s hand and as she lifted herself, blue water clung and wrapped her naked body, and for just a brief instant Scott saw that graceful form.
Her breasts were firm, and yet supple, and as the water cascaded away, a glimmering pale blue halter fashioned off one shoulder and caressed the lovely breasts. Her ribs and slender waist were the color of cream blushed with a hint of strawberry. She raised a perfect leg onto the deck and it was as if the sheening water gathered into a long silken glowing azure skirt that trailed wisps of sea-foam.
And as she climbed aboard she had eyes only for Scott.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Frederica said “And him.”
“And who is him?” she asked with the voice of a siren.
“We were just getting to introductions.”
Both women looked at him, and Scott had the feeling that it was a privilege to speak to the stunning nymph.
“Scott,” he said as if in a dream. “Scott Winsted.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you Scott Winsted,” the vision said gracing him. “I am Erica Laylanna Ariadne Delarosa.”
THE HEALING HEART Page 83