Assumptions (15 page)

Jordyn walked up the stone steps. "Emerson?"
Will did not turn around. "I'm sorry. If you don't want to go on,
that's up to you."

Will crossed himself and stood, still looking
at Ita. "This book is supposed to contain all the knowledge of God.
It's supposed to be sacred. How come I have it?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you believe it's
more than just an old book with no words. Maybe because you think
it's something worth protecting." She took his hand. "Come on.
Let's go home."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: WARM

Nearly a week had passed since Thanksgiving
and the crisp days of autumn had given way to winter’s chill.
Jordyn's doorbell rang precisely at eight. Oisin stood outside in
the glow of the porch light. Jordyn brushed cocoa powder off her
silky white sweater. She opened the door and smiled. "Gotta love a
punctual guest."

“And hello to you, too, Miss Quig.” He handed
her an old fashioned rose, white and full blown. It filled both her
hands put together.

“The gentleman brings flowers, too. Thank
you.” Jordyn touched the flower to her nose. “It smells like . . .
June. Our neighbor’s garden was full of these when we came to see
the house last summer. Where did you find it this time of
year?”

He only smiled.

“Come in, it’s cold out there.”

Jordyn led him upstairs to the kitchen. “Let
me put this in some water.” She filled a juice glass at the sink,
dropped the flower in, and set it on the counter. "There, that
works. I’m glad you could come."

“How could I resist?”

“No teasing, now,” said Jordyn.

“Of course not.”

“You’re in luck. The snow’s gone and the wood
guy came today so we can go outside. Come with me.” They went up
another floor out onto a terrace at the front of the house. It was
furnished with a sofa, a pair of chairs, and iron tables with stone
tops, all arranged cozily around an oversized fireplace where a
small fire crackled.

"Make yourself at home," said Jordyn.

Oisin took off his overcoat and a soft red
scarf. He draped them over one end of the sofa and sat, sinking
deep into its cushions. Jordyn curled up on a chair. Between them,
the coffee table was set with two heavy mugs, a thermos, a bowl of
whipped cream, and bright silver spoons.

“Cocoa?” asked Jordyn.

“I’d love some.”

Jordyn poured two cups. “Whipped cream?”

“Absolutely.”

She spooned a dollop on top of each and
handed Oisin his cup. “It’s still a little hot, I think,” she
said.

The fire died down to a single weak flame.
Jordyn got up and poked at the mostly unburned wood. “My
fire-building skills could use a little work. We may have to go
inside soon.” She folded her arms around herself and went back to
her seat.

Oisin set down his cup. Without a word, he
got up and wrapped his scarf around Jordyn’s shoulders. The fire
waned. He added a couple of pieces of wood, shuffled them around
with the poker, and sat down to drink his cocoa. “Not bad.”

Jordyn scrunched up her face. “Not bad? What
you really mean to say is ‘this is the best hot cocoa I have ever
tasted.’”

Oisin put on a serious expression. “This is
the best hot cocoa I have ever tasted.”

Jordyn smiled sideways. “Told you so.” She
laughed.

“I was at the opening of your father’s new
headquarters,” said Oisin.

“Please tell me you aren’t a gamer.”

“No. Not that.”

“Good. Because I would have to kick you out
immediately.”

“You’re serious.”

“Dead.” She took another sip. “I heard it was
pretty crazy down there.”

“Your father knows how to work a crowd.”

“He’s good at that. He’s still there now, at
the office. He spends more time with Serendipity than me.” She
paused. “Did that sound bitter?”

“A little,” said Oisin.

“I just miss him, you know? He really does
try to make it all work for us. When I was little I used to always
be at his desk. He used to spend hours sketching the most beautiful
images of Serendipity. I thought they were pictures of me. I guess,
in some ways, they were.” She stopped talking for a moment then
shook her head. “You must think I’m pathetic. I have everything. I
should be happy.”

“No. It’s okay.” He took a slow sip of cocoa
and looked at her warmly. “Really.”

Jordyn took another sip. Oisin cracked a
smile.

“What? What’s so funny?” said Jordyn.

“You’ve got a little chocolate mustache.”

She tried to lick it off. “Did I get it?”

He pointed at his own upper lip. “No.
There.”

Jordyn tried to reach it again. He
laughed.

Jordyn threw up her hands. “Help me!”

Oisin set down his cup. He knelt in front of
her and reached for her face. “Hold still,” he said. She looked up
at the sky like she did at the doctor’s office or the cosmetics
counter. He touched her upper lip, running his fingertips slowly
across her mouth. He wiped away the chocolate, his touch familiar
and unwavering. Jordyn lowered her gaze and looked into his eyes,
unembarrassed.

“Beautiful night,” she said.

“Beautiful.”

On the street below an ambulance wailed.
Oisin looked over his shoulder. “I should go.”

“But you just got here.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Thanks for the cocoa.” He
gathered his coat.

Jordyn showed him back into the kitchen. “I’m
glad you could come. Thanks for the rose.”

He put on his overcoat and she walked him to
the porch. He started down the stairs. “Oisin, wait,” Jordyn called
after him. He turned around. “I’m supposed to go to this benefit
for our school. It’s the Saturday before Christmas. Would you like
to come? With me, I mean.”

“Oh, uh, I have something I . . . a prior
commitment.”

“Of course. It’s Christmas. You already have
plans. No big deal. I can’t let Emerson go alone anyway, can I?”
she added with a forced smile.

“I’m just a bit busy that night. Can I see
you Christmas Day?”

Her smile warmed. “I’d like that.”

The sirens grew loud. “I have to go.”

“Bye,” said Jordyn. He pulled his coat tight,
jogged down the stairs, and walked toward the children’s hospital
at the end of the block.

Jordyn went back upstairs to clean up the
terrace. She leaned over to pick up the cups. The red scarf fell
forward. Jordyn looked over the edge of the terrace, but could not
see Oisin. She ran downstairs and out onto the sidewalk to catch
him, but he was already at the end of the block, silhouetted in the
lights of the ambulances pulling into the emergency room driveway.
She ran her hand down the soft wool and went inside.

Jordyn stopped in the kitchen to give the
rose another drink. She picked it up, sniffing its summery
fragrance one more time. With her free hand, she pulled the red
scarf to her face. It smelled like cloves and cinnamon. The front
door rattled. She listened for the sound again. When it didn’t
come, she decided it was the wind or her imagination. She turned
off the lights and carried her rose upstairs to bed.

Devin waited for Oisin at the end of the
block.

“It must be hard to leave her,” she said.

“It is.”

Devin looked at her watch. “It’s almost
time.”

“I know.”

“We need to go now.” Devin took Oisin by the
elbow and they walked together into the screaming light of the
ambulance.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: COMPULSION

Jilly sat on the window sill just before
Geography. Logan called from the front of the room, "He hasn't been
here for at least a month. What makes you think he'll show up
today?"

"I don't know. Maybe a little Christmas
miracle or something."

Alex sat beside her. "Yeah, Logan. Where’s
your Christmas spirit?”

“Term's almost over. I don't think so," said
Logan. He looked out the window. "I don't see anyone out
there."

"Really?" said Alex. "Take a look at that."
She pointed at a man in a dark overcoat.

The street cleaners hadn’t been out in weeks
and the trash had accumulated since Pritchard last walked the
block. He carried an armload of small bags, stooping every few feet
to pick up a scrap of paper or crushed pen.

"Santa Claus does exist," said Logan.

Alex squealed. "Mark, you still got the
binoculars in your desk?"

"Yeah."

"Hand 'em over. Now!" she yelled. She peered
out the window. "Weird.”

“Of course he’s weird” said Mark, handing
over the binoculars.

Alex scowled and adjusted the focus. “No
shit, Sherlock. I meant, he's not wearing a tie."

Logan pushed her aside and took the
binoculars from her hand. "Let me see." He watched Pritchard fill
bag after bag, scribbling so many notes he didn't pocket his pen
once.

Jordyn and Will walked through the classroom
door. A dozen students angled for a spot at the window. Jordyn
whispered in Will's ear. He nodded and they pushed into the crowd.
Prichard poked at the bits caught in the storm drain.

Professor Embry walked in and sat at his desk
unnoticed. He slammed a drawer. “Chapter twenty, people. Look
alive,” bellowed Embry. The students jumped then scattered to their
desks.

Jordyn passed Will a note.
So?

Will shrugged. He returned the note.
Can't
be good.

They opened their books and listened to Embry
summarize the semester. The professor wrapped up his lecture
fifteen minutes early. "How's that for an end of term treat?” he
complimented himself. “I suggest you use the time to proofread your
papers. Remember, they count for half of your grade and grammar
counts. The last day of class is Friday. That would be the day
after tomorrow. I expect them to be handed in at the beginning of
the period." The students cleared their desks and filed out of the
door, faces glum.

Jordyn and Will packed their things and left
the classroom.

"What do you think it means?" asked
Jordyn.

"I'm not sure."

"Maybe he's over it. He's back into his
normal routine."

"That was not normal, even for him. I need to
talk to Professor Barrett. His office is downstairs. Come on." Will
took off down the corridor.

"Barrett?" asked Jordyn, trying to keep
up.

"He's my Deacon."

"At church?"

"Yeah."

"I had no idea. Again with the
surprises."

"You should come with me. To Mass." They
jogged down the stairs.

"Me? No. Not my thing. Really."

"You’re Catholic?"

"I guess. Maybe by default or something."

"How about Christmas? They sing carols. It’s
nice. Very festive."

"I sort of made plans. With Oisin."

“Just so you know, this is where I am
supposed to give you a hard time.”

“I know.”

“But I won’t.” Will grinned. “What time?"

"What?”

“What time are you meeting your
boyfriend?”

“Emerson! You said . . . He’s not . . .”

“Sorry.” He sneezed out, “Sort of.”

“Emerson!”

“Okay, okay. What time?”

“Oh.” She stopped walking. “That's a problem.
I don't know. He had to leave. We never said."

Will let her catch up. "Molly's is serving
breakfast," he said.

"On Christmas?"

"We can stop by on the way to Mass."

Boxes of textbooks spilled out of the loading
dock into the corridor on either side of Barrett's door.

"Some office," said Jordyn.

The door was closed. Will tapped on the
glass. "Professor?" He knocked harder and the door unlatched.
"Professor?" He pushed it open and stepped inside. "He's not
here."

Jordyn stood in the doorway. The desk was
empty except for Iain Pritchard's book, centered perfectly, sticky
notes in every color marking at least fifty pages. Jordyn pushed
past Will and opened the book.

"We should get out of here,” said Will.

“Don’t you want to see what he’s got planned
for the last few days?”

“Not really.”

“Well, we can’t all be culture geniuses like
you. I’m looking.” She leafed through. “Covered that.” She turned a
few pages. “Done.” The book fell open to a chapter called, “The
Birth of the Museum Collection.” A newspaper clipping, folded up in
a flat scroll, was taped to the upper margin. Jordyn uncurled the
newsprint. “Look at this. It’s about that museum”

Will read over her shoulder.

Summer Fun in Small Town America

“One person’s trash is another’s treasure,”
Dorothea Whitford, the proprietor of a very curious museum, tells
her patrons. Housed in a 1920s era theater, Dorothea’s Curiosity
Shop and Museum of Unusual Objects holds treasures, to be sure, but
what brings in most of the visitors are the Wunderkammer, or
Cabinets of Wonder. Popular among the aristocracy and elite of
Renaissance Europe, such collections were the precursors to modern
museums. The small studios adjacent to the theater have been turned
into these jewel boxes of natural history, art, and
archaeology.

The museum’s collection is large. Most of it
is stored in crates in what was once the theater house. "The place
is packed to the rafters. Sometimes I'm not even sure what all is
in there,” Whitford confided. “Promise me you won’t tell National
Risk.”

Shhh. Don’t worry, we won’t. Displays rotate
throughout the year, so be sure to call ahead.

In one of the photos above the article, a
round woman with black hair stood in a Wunderkammer, every inch of
every wall covered by deer antlers and shark teeth, strings of
amber and a still-life made entirely of beetles. The other photo
was a close-up of one of the museum display cases.

“Look at these frogs,” said Jordyn.

“The article in the file mentioned them.”
Will ran his finger along the edge of the grainy black and white
photo. “That’s strange. Here.” He pointed to the corner of the
frame. Next to the dancing frogs lay a small book with a stone in
its clasp. Will looked at the top of the clipping. “This is from
May, just before the storm. The book was there.”