The Lebrus Stone (21 page)

But he wouldn't even look at me. He wouldn't say a word.

I had climbed into the back seat of the car, thinking it was the wisest choice, then rolled down my window to watch the dawn of a closing night to stop myself from replaying the kiss, to stop feeling on edge and uncomfortable.

The night was cooler and uncomplicated. It allowed me to breathe in the crisp air with ease, rather than feel like it was being forced down my throat. The roads were a lot more jam-packed than they had been on the way here, which gave me a lot to concentrate on. Drivers lacked in patience just like the rest of the world that suffered bad traffic on a regular basis.

Moments later, Reverend Sinclair was waving at me from the car beside ours. In a blue, rusted Corvette convertible. I couldn't imagine him driving it with the roof down.

"Enjoy the festival?" he asked, his hair all disheveled.

"Great, thanks." I lied. Enjoying would have meant Cray and I had attended.

The Minister gave me another wave, and then drove farther down the road. Cray turned to look at whom I'd been talking to, only to frown at the back of the Minister's head that was sticking out the side of his window so he could wave at a group of cheering old ladies.

Cray mumbled something under his breath, revved his engine and crossed a set of traffic lights.

Once we left the freeway, the roads and streets through Winchester town and Charlottesville became bereft of people and sounds. It was as if life had been sucked into a great big hole until sunrise, allowing everything and everyone to escape until the next morning before returning to hibernate.

I could have been exaggerating. But compared to home, it felt true to my description.

The car screeched around a bend, picking up speed down a dusty road toward the open gates to the manor. I imagined Cray would have blustered right through if they'd been closed.

He slammed his foot down and I jolted back, holding onto the leather seat to keep from sliding around. Another high resuming screech brought us to a standstill. I quickly unbuckled my seatbelt and pushed my door open without waiting to see if he had considered opening it for me.

Leaving Cray to have a discussion on his cell phone that had erupted into an argument, I ran up the stone steps to the manor, I had tried to listen to what was being said, but not a single word was audible.

Milton answered the door. Dark rings had surfaced around his eyes. I was about to ask him if he was alright, but he interrupted me.

"Enjoy your day?" he asked, closing the door on the outside discussion taking place. Call me big headed, but I had a feeling it was about me.

"Yep."

Milton chuckled at my lack of enthusiasm, but stopped to listen for something.

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

He didn't seem to hear me.

"Milton?"

He flinched. "Oh, I just thought I heard Isobel calling. Must be my age."

"Has she got you working overtime?"

"Something like that."

"Where's Syd?"

He became distracted again. "She's having an early night. That's why I decided to stay longer than usual."

"Is she not well?"

"No, no." He sucked in a deep breath. "Just missing her children, I think."

"Can I see her?"

"Best leave it till morning." He patted my shoulders. "I'm sure she's hoping you've brought back some fresh strawberries for dessert tomorrow."

"Um…"

The front door opened and Cray slipped inside. He nodded at Milton, but Milton turned away as if he couldn't bring himself to look at him.

"Your mother's waiting for you in the drawing room," Milton said, walking away to the kitchen.

Cray glanced at me, and in that split second, I knew he was apologizing. And as difficult as it was to digest, I accepted it. For now.

Did I want Cray? Or did I just resent the fact that I felt like I needed him? Needed him like a car needed fuel? A ship needed its sail? Darn it. Like I needed air to function and breathe properly?

Every day was a losing battle. Nothing he did or said would discourage my…my craving, a bizarre craving like gherkins and ice-cream, anchovies and honey, especially after that kiss.

What would I crave next? Gal?

No. There had to be a logical explanation why I was obsessing over a guy I had known for a few intolerable days, a guy who had kissed me only once.

Even so, I seemed to gravitate toward him. I always had. I hung onto his every word, waiting for a response or a voice of reasoning.

The more I saw Cray, the more I wanted to know everything about him, inspect every detail of his face, visualize it whenever he was away.

Sadly, my careful analysis had noticed quirks and special traits, not that you could also call his frequent rudeness that.

For example, he bit his bottom lip whenever I asked him a question.

He mashed his food before he ate a single mouthful.

He preferred dry white wine to red and tapped his pinkie finger on the outer rim after every sip.

He sometimes listened to classical music. Baroque I think, and liked to strum on his acoustic guitar in the early hours of the morning.

Sometimes, I swear I could hear him singing along. It helped me to sleep.

I also liked the way he often rubbed his hair from front to back, or rubbed his face whenever he saw me; the way his eyes sparkled with a secretive smile even when angry.

Most of all, I liked the way he stopped outside my door each night before he entered his, as if he was silently wishing me goodnight.

There was a good side to him. I knew there had to be, but he kept it under wraps. Maybe for my benefit. He didn't want to include me in enjoying the real Cray Locke. The one everyone else got to know without having to try.

They say good things came to those who wait. I guess I would have to test it in terms of Cray ever giving me a chance to get closer to him. I was decent, exemplary some might say, attractive, too. Maybe he would give in and realize that someday.

If not, I could go home and try to forget about him. Totally erase the moron from ever trespassing where he hadn't been intentionally made welcome.

I changed into my white chiffon dress.

Although there was that odd chill in the air again, I wanted to dress for the spring weather for a change. I hadn't experienced any ghostly sightings or screams in the night or shadows, but I still sensed something watching sometimes, counting my every move. No matter what Jess claimed, I began to wonder if I did need to see a shrink again. I had a few times growing up, especially after what happened with Sal and Danny.

I applied a cooling cream to my slightly sunburned arms and shoulders and the horrid triangular birthmark between my breasts. It was bluish and rose from the skin like Braille. I still hated it. But doctors confirmed it could never be removed. It was attached to too many important vessels or something.

Syd hadn't come out of her room much. I missed her. I wanted to give her something as a way of thanking her for everything she had done for me. The way she had welcomed me, perhaps even more than Isobel.

I mean, Isobel was a good woman. Perpetually strange, but generous in dabbles and twisted speech. And I was getting used to the new her.

Yet only just.

~ * ~

The next morning, a note on the refrigerator informed us Syd was still in bed. I waited until the afternoon to make my way to her room. It wasn't like there was anyone around to stop me.

I knocked, but there was no answer. I turned the handle. She hadn't locked it, so I stepped inside.

The bed was made and the room was spotless, bare apart from the main essentials of washed linen and bottles of facial cream stacked symmetrically on her bedside table.

"Syd!"

The sheer draped curtains from the balcony flapped between the opened French doors. I could just about see Syd sat in a rocking chair, sipping from a glass full of crushed ice.

When I took a step out into the balcony, she didn't look back, just gazed far into the distance, humming to herself.

"Syd!"

She continued humming, closing her eyes as a breeze swept her long hair across her face.

"Syd, are you okay?" I stepped closer.

She rocked in her chair in time with the song she began to sing.

I stopped in my tracks. I knew the melody. It seemed a lifetime ago. Yet it hit a familiar chord.

"Unfortunate souls will often say

We need to cling to yesterday

An evil there or light to see

Gives us hope of what might be

Faith gathered from "once was"

Hope gathered from "once was"

Peace gathered from "once was"

Love gathered from "once was"

"Syd." I touched her gently on the arm.

She leaped up from her chair, dropping her drink. It smashed on to the stone floor.

"Get away, how dare you," she screamed, restricting my hands from getting any closer to her. "How dare you do this to me?" She beat me with her fists.

"Syd. Stop." I yelled. "It's just me. Crystal."

She stopped and grabbed me by the shoulders, her eyes were bloodshot and her cheeks streamed with tears.

"Crystal! Oh, Crystal. I'm so sorry." She sobbed and hugged me.

I let a few tears of my own escape. It just happened. In front of Syd, who seemed just as pained about something. She made it easy. The release of tears was immense, removing an ache that had pressed in on me as a sharp pain in my chest all these years.

We stood there for a long time, in each other's arms.

"You frightened me," she said, removing the wet strands of her hair stuck to my face.

"Why?" my voice croaked.

"For a moment, I thought I had gone from this house." She peered around.

"Do you want to leave?" More tears broke through my speech. I realized how much I had become attached to her.

"Shhh." She held me. "I'm not leaving. Not just yet, not while I still have you here."

She kissed my head and rocked me. I wished she was my real Mom.

She led me to the bedroom. We sat on her bed for few minutes without a word. But it was the kind of silence that washed over you, not one you dreaded.

"I thought you were happy here?" I asked when it felt right to.

"I am. I…was." She pulled out a piece of tissue from her sleeve and wiped her nose.

"What's changed?" I needed a piece of tissue stuffed up my own sleeve.

She stood to open her drawer, and passed me a box of tissues. I was that readable.

"Nothing has changed. I, I guess I just miss home. My family." Her voice quavered as she turned and pressed her hands to her face. I stood to stroke her back, to let her know I was there for her if she needed me.

She turned around and grabbed my hands to kiss them once then hold them to her face.

"You remind me so much of my girls."

"Do they never visit?" I asked, touched.

She shook her head.

"Can you not visit them?"

She shook it again. "Emily lives in New England and the other…"

"Have you fallen out?"

She smiled sadly. "If only that were the case."

"Is she…no longer…"

"You could say that."

"I'm sorry. It's wrong of me to ask."

"No, you could never pry." She smiled, leading me back to the bed. We sat and she rested our clenched hands on her lap.

"Rebecca is, how shall I put it, been convicted of a crime she didn't commit."

I was shocked. "What kind of crime?"

"Manslaughter."

"You don't have to go on."

"They think she murdered her husband. Of course he murdered himself."

I frowned.

"He was a heavy drinker. Always was; beat my girl senseless. But she never listened and went ahead and married him against my wishes."

"But how could he have killed himself?"

"He came home drunk one night, they fought and he fell down the stairs. Simple really."

"So, how was she convicted if it was an accident?"

"No evidence. Without it, there's nothing to prove." Tears brimmed the outer corners of her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Syd. I shouldn't have made you tell me."

"I needed to tell you. I needed to speak to someone who would understand."

I squeezed her hand.

"How about you?" she asked. "It couldn't have been easy losing both your parents."

The warmth in her eyes, as always, made me smile and feel safe.

"I don't remember what it was like to have parents, so I guess that's made it easier."

Her tears fell onto the bed.

"You don't remember anything?" she asked, hesitant.

I didn't want to lie, so I tried to think of something. I tried to describe even one of the images that ran through my mind every day.

"I recall a vase."

"A vase?" she repeated, her eyes widening.

"Yes. It's white and orange, filled with…"

"With what?" she asked impatiently.

"Tulips, Red Tulips. The vase is on a square kitchen table."

"And…" she pressed.

"A woman with reddish brown hair is arranging them with long elegant hands. And there's a dark headed man with a mole on his neck who is kissing her on the lips."

"What about you?" She grinned. "Anything with you in it?" Her eyes sparkled.

"I think I recall my mother smelling of rosemary. I think she even bathed me in it."

Syd burst into giggles, surprising me. "Go on, go on."

"And my father. My father's image is a bit more of a blank spot. I can just recall his presence, not much else."

"How is his presence?"

"Hmmm, kind of complex, like a brainstorm of emotions intermingled into one spirit. But I know he's dominant, yet kind, persevering, but lacking maybe in faith."

She clapped her hands, making me flinch. "You remember more than you may think."

"I'm not sure how I recall all this. It comes and goes." I shrugged.

"They're in your heart, that's why." She kissed me on the forehead and held me against her for a while. I rested there, feeling as though I were in the safest place in the world. And that had been the memory I missed the most. The secure way I felt whenever my parents held me, or carried me home to bed.

"Syd?"

"Hm?"

"Why doesn't Isobel tell me much about them?"

"I suppose it's difficult for her to talk about."

"Did she love my mother that much?"

She cleared her throat. "I believe so." She didn't sound certain.  The sympathy in her eyes suggested I forget the reason.

A stomp of feet made us flinch.

Gal entered without knocking, eating from a large tray of strawberries.

"There you are," he said to me as he sucked on one of them. "I've been looking for you."

He bit into each strawberry then spat the stems out into a tissue. He could be so gross sometimes.

"Anything the matter, Gal?" Syd asked calmly. But I could tell she was just as annoyed by his appearance.

"Are you both in here plotting your revenge on me?" He laughed. "What do you both have up your sleeves today?"

Syd and I looked at each another, completely decided that Gal was nuts.

"I have my eye on you both," Gal grunted. "And you, little Miss Sunshine," he said to me. "Mother wants to see you in the study. You can gripe and mope later."

He left  without closing the door behind him.

"You should go." Syd sniffed "We don't want to upset them."

Or me, I thought.