Nineteen Seventy-Four

by Sarah M. Cradit

  The spell broke. Evangeline threw her body sideways, to face Amnesty. “Are you trying to tell me you both thought I was vulnerable enough, after being gang raped, to fall in love with you? Do I have that one-dimensional crap right?”

  Silent tears streamed down Amnesty’s cheeks. “I agreed to it, like I agreed to everything he asked. For Cara. But then I met you, Evangeline, and there was this spark between us.”

  “Sure.” Evangeline choked out a laugh. “A fucking spark. Which is impossible by the way, from a scientific perspective. Just some bullshit people say.”

  “Then call it whatever you want! The very night I met you, I knew I had second thoughts. After a couple weeks of meeting you at night for our walks, my father pushed me for progress, and I knew then I couldn’t do it. It’s why you didn’t hear from me for a while.” Amnesty dropped her eyes. “I went back to turning tricks. I just couldn’t do it. I liked you, and I kept wishing I’d met you under different circumstances.”

  Evangeline pulled herself off the bench. She needed distance from Amnesty, who was finally, finally telling her something that was true, and now Evangeline wished more than anything she could go back to a time where all her knowledge of Amnesty was a wish and a whim.

  “But you did come back,” Evangeline said slowly. “And you made up a story, and you played to my compassion. You accepted a house from me, pretended to have genuine feelings for me—”

  “I wasn’t pretending, Evangeline, I swear on my mot—”

  “I don’t care,” Evangeline said. She put her hand up. “I don’t care who you swear on. You led me on and led me to believe that I was… something to you. Something special. You know, I guess the joke’s on me for trying out the human condition.” Her hoarse laugh faded to a cough. “I don’t care, Amnesty, or whoever you are, because if you really had felt remorse, and really wanted to make this right, you wouldn’t have come back. You wouldn’t have made me feel safe. Let me fall for you. And you wouldn’t have taken my money and broken my heart.”

  Amnesty bowed her head and sobbed. She didn’t protest again. Maybe, Evangeline thought, she understood that would make it worse, not better. Or maybe there was nothing more to say.

  “You know the worst part,” Evangeline continued. She was almost done. Not just with this conversation, but this chapter. This city. The whole fucking enchilada. “If you had told me this earlier, before we went down the rabbit hole we couldn’t climb back up, I would’ve given you the money. Any amount. I would’ve gone to your father and asked him what his price was, to buy you and Cara out of his grasp. I don’t have access to all my money yet, but Charles does, and Augustus does, and either one of them would give me anything I asked for. I would’ve done it for you, to save you.”

  Amnesty cried silent tears, mouth agape, slightly, in horror. She looked like she was screaming, but no sound came out.

  I know how you feel. The whole thing is a shit po’boy.

  “I feel horrible for you, and the life you’ve been forced to lead,” Evangeline said. “Your father is a monster. If I believed in hell, he’d be the type of man the place was created for.” Evangeline reached forward and pulled the empty pop bottle from Amnesty’s hands. She dropped it in a nearby bucket, where they used to drop their sodas, in happier times. “I admire what you’ve done for your sister. I’m telling you all these things, because they’re facts, and I work best with facts.”

  Amnesty nodded. Evangeline couldn’t tell where her running mascara stopped and her bruises began.

  “So the last thing I’ll say is also a fact. Go ask your father what that number is. Come give it to me, and I’ll give him that amount. For you and Cara.”

  “No, Evangeline, no, I don’t want any—”

  “I didn’t ask what you wanted, just like you never gave me that chance,” Evangeline replied. “I love you, and I can’t walk away from this and sleep at night knowing what’s ahead for you and your sister. So I’m going to clear my conscience with this last bit of blood money, and then we’re going to go our separate ways. Do you understand?”

  Amnesty could have fought harder. Evangeline half-expected her to, even though she’d already hardened her heart, and her mind, against further vulnerability. There just wasn’t room for more damage, and so there was no room for Amnesty’s sad story, or her potential redemption. Evangeline could love her and still desire never to see her ever again. Those things could co-exist. They had to, for her survival.

  And she had to leave New Orleans. She knew that now. Understood it, which was even more important. She’d thank Amnesty for that, if the girl hadn’t taken so much more than she’d given.

  “I’m truly sorry for everything, Evangeline,” Amnesty said. She paused to the side of Evangeline, as if there was one more lasting hope they could find accord, but then continued down the stairs and was gone.

  “Yeah,” Evangeline said, when she was again alone. “Merry Christmas, Amnesty.”

  Nineteen

  A Band of Heather

  Noah offered to drive the six hours to Portree. He rented a car and they left before either of them would question the insanity of the suggestion. Colleen wondered if he felt as lost and exhilarated as she did, sitting beside the last person in Scotland she ever expected to be going on a rendezvous with. After her first invasion of his thoughts, she swore never to do it again. Not on this trip, nor any shared experiences they might have when it was over.

  Their route wound them past the fortress of Stirling. Colleen had pleaded with him to stop, like a spoiled child, to walk the steps of her idol, Mary, Queen of Scots and see the statue of Robert the Bruce. They passed through the ice-age glaciers of Glen Coe, and the Highland stronghold of the Jacobite Mackenzies, Eilean Donan.

  Colleen internalized the majority of her rambling contemplations as she surveyed the volcanic carving of the Highlands. She was only just getting to know it, but she loved it, in a way she never thought she could love anywhere that wasn’t New Orleans. Whatever thoughts danced through Noah Jameson’s mind remained as hidden as her own, thanks to her promise to herself, and, though he didn’t know it, to him.

  How long did he intend to whisk her away? They’d never discussed details, as if dissecting might break the spell and sway them from their course. The subject never came up; not the strangeness of it, nor the fact that with each mile passing from Edinburgh, both of them eased into themselves more and more.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this. Not in all my life.” Colleen exhaled, after speaking the words in a rush, one of only a few she made on the long journey. With the entire world passing by her window, casual conversation seemed inadequate and inappropriate. More, the silence between them felt comfortable. A peace had settled between them.

  Noah smiled from his peripheral. He rested a hand briefly on her knee, then he removed it again and continued his focus on the road.

  * * *

  Colleen awoke as the car eased up the gravel driveway to a small cabin in Sligachan. The Cuillin Mountains set the backdrop, their foggy peaks lit by the full moon. She exited the car in a daze.

  Continuing his stint as a gentleman, Noah took her bag from her. She entered the cabin ahead of him, stumbling a bit in her sleepiness. He instinctively reached out to steady her as her drowsy smile met his.

  Is this really happening? Am I really here? With him? Me?

  She spent so much of her life interpreting and analyzing every good thing that happened to her, that she couldn’t prevent the inevitable comparisons to Rory. To Philip. Noah possessed some of Rory’s thoughtful kindness, and he held his own intellectually, like Philip. But to compare Noah to either of these men was a disservice to both him and herself. Colleen had chosen to live in the moment by accepting a spontaneous proposal with all the potential for disaster, and now she must see it through.

  This included, she realized with a sigh, letting go.

  Colleen intercepted the potential for awkwardness by selecting her own room, a point she capped wit
h the light comment, You okay if I take this one? Noah exhaled in relief, and she wondered at the strange sadness she felt at this. She was the one who’d chosen the separate room. Did she really expect him to look disappointed?

  And, really, had he hoped she might stay in his room… a girl he hardly knew? Had she hoped he would hope for that? He had invited her to go away with him, though other than the light touch of his palm on her knee, he’d given her no sign his interest was romantic.

  You don’t play games, and though you don’t know him, you don’t think he does either. Stop overthinking. Stop all of this.

  Let go.

  “Good night, Noah,” she said and pretended not to see the smile that followed her to her room.

  Colleen turned off the overthinking for the night, using her careful system of compartments, and allowed herself the tempting lure of sleep.

  Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, but she didn’t think about that, or anything.

  For once, Colleen’s mind was clear.

  * * *

  Colleen rose to the pleasant aroma of strong coffee. She slipped her sweater on over her pajamas and went to meet Noah. This caught her off guard, that he rose before she did, as she was always the earliest riser back in New Orleans. There was comfort in greeting the world before the chaos hit. Yet here he was, pushing her farther away from the neat lines she’d drawn around her life.

  His hair was a mess, the mane of someone who’d gone straight from her bed to her tasks. When sunrise hit the snarls, dancing across the ends, he swayed slowly in the old rocker. Colleen’s heart bounced.

  “There’s more in the dining room,” he called to her. Turning to face her, his green eyes caught hers. “Do you like picnics?”

  “Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never been on one?”

  “Never? A travesty, Miss Deschanel!” he teased, employing the same moniker he’d used through the term to give her a hard time. Before, when he’d said it, she’d heard no fun in his tone. Now… now, she didn’t know. The man was an enigma, but one she’d have the opportunity to solve as they explored the quiet island together.

  She blushed. “Well…”

  “I found a picnic basket, so I thought we could make good use of it. We don’t have any groceries, but we could stop in Portree for some wine and snacks.”

  “Sounds lovely,” she said, and it did.

  * * *

  Noah took her to Glenbrittle, site of the Fairy Pools of Skye. Despite the chill in the air, the sky was free of clouds other than the low fog settling over the Black Cuillins. Colleen had an image of sitting down at a bench here to write a novel, even though she’d never entertained such a whimsical, fruitless idea in her life.

  They started down the uneven path. Fields of heather and peat moor flanked both sides of the rocky trail, though the heather wouldn’t bloom again until the spring. They meandered the passage, which crossed the River Brittle in several spots, jumping the stones like children. Noah squealed when he missed and landed a foot in the ice-cold water. Colleen offered a hand, smothering an impolite giggle while pulling him back to the safety of dry land.

  When, at last, the blue-green waterfalls cascading from pool to pool came into view, Colleen’s knees buckled. Magic flourished in this place. Perhaps it had been born here. If anyone would know such a thing, it was a Deschanel. She suddenly wished Evangeline were here, and even Maureen and Lizzy, and even her brothers. They would know what she was feeling. It would knock them off their feet.

  Colleen turned to see Noah cresting the rise ahead, shaking out the blanket. She moved to join him.

  “Why is no one else here?” she marveled, helping him assemble the assortment of cheeses and meats on the tartan spread. All the food looked so incredible, and she knew it was the setting. It was this place. Things were amplified here, beyond their capabilities anywhere else.

  Noah grinned. “It’s Christmas Eve. Most people are celebrating with their families.”

  Colleen sighed. “Not us.”

  “I would love to be home right now,” Noah said. “My dad couldn’t afford it.”

  Her gaze dropped. She hadn’t considered this and assumed he had his own demons he was running from. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “You wish you were home but had no means. I had every means and chose not to go. I should have thought before I said something. It was insensitive.”

  “We shouldn’t apologize for who we are,” Noah said with a shrug, handing her a plastic cup half-filled with chardonnay. “That would be exhausting and pointless.”

  As he spoke the words, she realized the release of them came with his forgiveness of the wrongs her brother had done. They didn’t matter now. Charles couldn’t touch him here, and Colleen hoped Noah could see she was nothing like him. She wasn’t like anyone, except herself.

  “Why is it we always feel the need to apologize anyway?”

  Noah gave her question the consideration it deserved. “Maybe we’re afraid to be happy with ourselves? Or to admit as much to others.”

  “That’s a heavy dose of wisdom.” Colleen smiled. “Wasn’t expecting that from you.”

  “I suspect we’ll both feel that way by the end of the trip,” Noah rejoined.

  She was again hit with the awareness of how reckless she’d been—oh, won’t Evangeline be surprised when I post my next letter—coming halfway across the country with this man who, not even days ago, had rued her very existence. And yet, her racing heart had nothing to do with fear or contrition. Her flushed face held no embarrassment.

  He reminded her of here, and he reminded her of home, and he did this in a way that made her ache for what she left behind as much as what she’d run toward.

  She didn’t know this man at all.

  And yet.

  She did.

  “I love my family,” she said in a rush. “I don’t want you to think I’m here because I don’t.”

  “I didn’t think that.”

  “I told you about how I adore Mary, Queen of Scots. She was a stubborn queen, but she put her family, the crown, and her country above all else. Only when she stumbled on what her heart wanted did she falter.” Colleen studied the amber liquid in her cup, swirling it. “I want to be like her, but I don’t. Does that make sense?”

  Noah’s cheeks were aflame. She sensed in him the fear of giving her the wrong answer to a question, one that was among the most important she’d ever asked.

  “You… you want to honor your family and do the right thing, but you’re afraid you’ll lead with your heart instead of your head. Right?”

  Colleen watched him, learning more about the man sitting in front of her with every passing moment. She nodded slowly, swallowing. “I want to serve them.” She couldn’t elaborate, no matter how Noah put her at ease. He could never know everything about her family. What they could do. What she could do. “I don’t want to simply exist and rent space on this planet. I want my life to matter, for them.”

  Noah exhaled. “And you said I was doling out the heavy wisdom today.”

  Colleen was unfazed. “You said we shouldn’t apologize for who we are, but if you’d prefer I keep these things to myself—”

  He reached a hand forward, and, for a fleeting moment, she thought he was about to rest it against the back of it on one of her flushed cheeks. Or was that only that she wished he would? Instead, it gently landed on her arm. “No. I enjoy listening to you talk.”

  Her gaze traveled to his hand. It was a strong hand, and she liked the soft weight of it on her skin. “What about you, Noah? What do you want from life?”

  “I want to matter, too, Colleen, but my family is no bigger than my father and me. I have a mother, and sisters, somewhere… Ireland, I think. But I’ve never met them. To hear my father speak of my ma, I might not want to.”

  Colleen’s chest hurt at the idea of any mother who could walk away from her child. For all of Irish Colleen’s faults, she always put her children first
, over everyone and everything. “What happened?”

  “She was a witch.”

  Colleen couldn’t help but chuckle. “I take it the separation wasn’t a happy one.”

  “No, not in the pejorative sense,” Noah clarified. “Dad said she was… an actual witch.” Noah shook his head in embarrassment. “Hearing the words out loud, I realize how ridiculous that sounds. Just something my dad used to say, but he believed it. Deep down, he honestly thought she was a witch.”

  This didn’t sound ridiculous to Colleen at all, a witch from generations of sorceresses. If anything, she wished she could ask Noah more, but it was evident he shared his father’s prejudices. Which meant she had to tread very carefully with her own behavior. “It’s amazing to me our paths never crossed until now. That it took crossing an ocean.”

  “Colleen,” Noah said in a soft, gentle tone of voice, choosing his words with evident caution. “There may as well have been an ocean separating us in New Orleans.”

  She parted her lips, moving to apologize, once again, for her upbringing, her heritage, but Noah’s wisdom about apologies still resonated. “Do you still feel that way?”

  Noah’s fingertips traveled to her face. The gesture felt as if it contained more than what he permitted himself, but so much had transpired between them, beneath the surface, behind their words, unspoken. She feared it and felt the fear in him, too. “I truly don’t know how to describe what I’m feeling.”