Love Fortunes and Other Disasters (25 page)

“Take Fallon upstairs,” Marion told Sebastian. “I have one more appointment for the day. We'll talk after.”

Fallon stiffened, remembering how important this trip was. Marion had information about Zita. The faster they knew, the more time they might have to ensure the rebellion's success.

 

chapter 20

BORROWED TIME

Upstairs was another kind of waiting room. Fallon fiddled with the zipper on her suitcase. Marion's living room and connected kitchen exuded peace, from the sea-green accents to the shiny wooden floors. The walls weren't cluttered with family photos. Instead, one painting of sand dunes hung in the kitchen. The rest of the walls were eggshell white.

“You grew up here?” she asked.

“I used to think that my grandmother lived in a sanctuary. The calming effects never worked on me. I felt like an outsider,” he said.

“That's not true. You're more like her than you realize.” She thought about how focused he had been while recording silence and how at ease he had been sharing the morning hours with her at the villas, listening to nothing but the natural sounds of the world awakening.

Sebastian ducked his head, embarrassed. “Let me prove you wrong. Come see my bedroom.”

A short walk past the kitchen and he disappeared through a doorway. Fallon shut her eyes, nervous to see something as private as the bedroom he grew up in.

“You coming?” he called.

Fallon opened her eyes and followed his voice.

At first, his room did seem to imitate Marion's minimalist style. The indigo walls made the room smaller, more like a midnight hideaway. Even though the three black-and-white photographs of sailboats were the only decorations, Fallon noticed, upon closer inspection, that the walls were pockmarked.

“As a kid,” he explained, “I used to put push pins in the walls instead of using Grandma's corkboard. I hung up anything I could find, like newspaper ads and my graded homework. She'd take everything down each week, and I'd fill the walls back up again.”

The tall windows provided a substandard view of the cliff's edge, with the sea too far away to admire as more than a soup bowl of gray. Sebastian's dog-grooming supplies were neatly put away in a container on his desk. The bed had been perfectly tucked in, the covers as dark as the walls.

“I still have to see your apartment to compare,” she said, “but for now, yeah, I'm disappointed. She sure patched this room up.”

“It looks like a model showroom,” Sebastian said.

Fallon walked over to the bedside table. On the floor, next to the outlet, was a photograph lying facedown. “What's this?” she said, picking it up.

Sebastian's expression turned grim when he saw the photo of the couple. “My parents.”

“You look like your dad,” she said, tracing the slim shoulders in the photo with her finger. Mr. Barringer was softly handsome in the way that Sebastian was, but his mouth had hard brackets around it, as if he didn't use it for laughing. Sebastian's mother had both her arms wrapped around her husband, flashing large white teeth at the camera.

The bed sank with Sebastian's weight as he sat down. “I don't like thinking about them.”

“Where are they now?”

“Dad's still in downtown Glastonberry,” he said. “His barbershop is his second wife. My mother lives in the next town over, but Grandma tells me that she keeps coming back to bother him. She refuses to sign the divorce papers, says that Zita promised their love is unbreakable.”

“That can't be right,” Fallon said, sitting next to him. “Your mother must be lying.”

“She's not.” Sebastian released a dry laugh. “She carries the fortunes in her pockets everywhere. She shows them to everyone she meets.”

“Where do you fit into all this?”

“Forgotten.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I want nothing to do with them. They're so wrapped up in themselves. Not even my own birth kept them quiet for long. I remember arguments, broken dishes, hiding. That's why I wandered the neighborhood as kid, causing trouble. If I had control over something else, I felt good, since I couldn't change anything at home.”

She didn't press him further. “Show me a picture of you as a kid. You promised.”

“I did, didn't I?”

Sebastian opened his closet and searched through his shelves until he pulled out an old photo album. He flipped through a few pages and stopped at one taken of himself at age twelve. He posed on the top of monkey bars, lifting both hands in victory. He had a thin, angry little face, pronounced by his fleeced hair and the parade of bandages on his arms and legs. “That was a good day,” he said, smirking. “I outran Big Paul and his henchmen.” He pointed to the bandages. “That was all me. Asphalt and I had a loving relationship.”

“You were definitely ugly,” she said.

Sebastian feigned hurt. “I know I said it was okay for you to say I was ugly, but I changed my mind. You're supposed to adore me.”

Fallon laughed. “Since when?”

“Since forever.” Sebastian tackled her, tickling her through her sweater. The bed creaked, betraying its age, as they both fought playfully.

Fallon shivered, even as she found a spot underneath his rib cage that made him snort with laughter. Everything about this moment ached with loss. How long could she spend time with Sebastian before he was taken away? Zita's fortunes were ticking time bombs. For now, Fallon committed everything she could to memory. When she ended up underneath him, Fallon wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

“What's the matter?” he whispered against her hair.

“You're not ugly,” Fallon said.

“Neither are you, princess.”

She continued to hug him, afraid that if he saw her face, he'd know how close she was to crying.

*   *   *

When Marion joined them in the afternoon, she dropped a box on the kitchen counter. “I unearthed this from the attic,” she said, wiping dust off her coat.

Fallon climbed onto the bar stool, which was level with the counter. The box hadn't been touched in years, by the looks of the peeling masking tape and crushed edges.

Sebastian spun the box around until he found someone's name scribbled on the side in marker. “‘Dorian,'” he read. “That's Grandpa.”

Marion leaned her elbows on the counter. “How much do you remember about your grandfather?”

“Only what you told me,” he said, puzzled. Sebastian turned to Fallon. “Grandpa Dorian died after my father was born. I never knew him.”

Marion said, “I wish that man was here now. I'd give him a black eye.”

“You don't mean that,” Sebastian said.

“I loved him very much,” she said, “but it seems that he caused more trouble than I thought. Go on, Sebastian. Open the box. You'll see what I mean.”

Sebastian curled his hands into fists. “What does this have to do with Zita?”

“This box contains everything from Dorian's past,” she explained instead, picking at the masking tape. “When we moved in together, he brought this box with him and told me never to open it. He wanted to keep the past in the past. I felt the same. When Sebastian told me about those love fortunes, something about how they were written jogged my memory. Dorian once said that his fianc
é
e had been quite the poetess.”

“You think there's something in there about his fianc
é
e?” Sebastian asked.

Fallon watched them both, confused. “What fianc
é
e?”

“Maybe you should start from the beginning,” Sebastian said to his grandmother. “Fallon doesn't know about Grandpa.”

Marion opened the fridge and sniffed a half-empty milk carton. “Dorian Barringer came to Glastonberry as an escape. He was twenty at the time, and I had just started veterinary school. I remember being drawn to his helplessness,” she said wistfully. “He got off the bus right where you two did, with too many suitcases and a torn map in his hands.

“At first, Dorian was vehemently against dating, despite the magnetic pull that brought us together. I knew it was right. He did too, but he was honest with me. Before he packed up his old life and rode the bus out as far as he could go, his doctors back in Grimbaud had diagnosed him with lymphoma. He only had six months to live.”

Sebastian sat up straighter. “But he lived another two years.”

“That's right. Long enough to marry me and give me a son, Etienne.”

“He came from Grimbaud?” Fallon asked.

“Born and raised.” Marion opened the milk carton and peered inside. “I never understood the appeal of that town. Too noisy and cute for my tastes. But Etienne was mad about it when he was a young man, and so is Sebastian.”

Sebastian inhaled and drew the box close. He peeled the layers of masking tape off until the top flaps came free. One by one, he took out each item in the box and placed it on the counter: certificates of achievement from Grimbaud's elementary and middle schools, a vial of canal water, marked-up high school essays, a leather notebook, a deflated basketball, a pair of scissors, and loose photographs.

Marion wrapped ice cubes in a dish towel and pressed it against her temples. “Look for the fianc
é
e.”

“What's her name?” Sebastian asked, flipping through the essays.

“In
é
s Aandekerk.”

Fallon started. She recognized the last name from the guidebooks she had studied before coming to Grimbaud. Aandekerk's Lace Shop was notable because of its long history, but Fallon hadn't gone there yet; it was too easy to overlook lace shops when Zita's love charms and fortunes brought the crowds to the square.

Fallon took the leather notebook and opened it to the first page. The book was dedicated to Dorian. Handwritten poems covered the pages, dripping with sweet nothings. The handwriting matched the fortunes. Reading them made her uncomfortable, so she skimmed the pages for In
é
s's name. On the last page, she found “In
é
s Aandekerk” underneath a crude sketch of a young woman. The handwriting was different here—maybe Dorian had been the one to draw her. The sketch revealed a teenage girl at her desk, her face in profile. Fallon felt a trickle of dread as she recognized the girl's tumbling dark hair and the silver heart necklace.

Fallon flipped the book upside down and ran to her suitcase. She was glad she thought to bring Zita's photograph, but wished she hadn't needed it. The frame felt cold in her hands as she carried it back to the kitchen. She held up the photo, her voice cracking. “I think she's Zita.”

Sebastian grabbed the leather notebook and stared at the sketch. “They do look the same.”

“Where is your fortune?”

When Sebastian pulled it out of his pocket, Fallon smoothed the fortune out next to the notebook. “Look at the handwriting.”

Sebastian gasped softly. “I always thought the machine printed them.”

“A charm?” Marion asked, wrinkling her nose.

Fallon climbed back onto the chair, but her movements were shaky. The connection was there. “No one knows who Zita is,” she murmured, “and right here, we're holding a piece of her past in our hands.”

Marion dumped the melting remains of ice cubes in the sink. “Dorian said she couldn't handle it.”

“Handle what?” Sebastian said.

“He never told her about the lymphoma.” Marion's expression hardened. “He didn't leave Grimbaud just because of the illness. His fianc
é
e was an excitable girl, prone to moods and hysterics. He thought the news would stop her heart, and so he cut ties without even a good-bye.”

Fallon cradled the leather book in her hands. In
é
s's poetry traveled dark and sensuous paths. Her mind must have been full of riddles, easily translatable to ticker tape. “Then Zita knows who Sebastian is.”

“Use this for your rebellion,” Marion said. “Take whatever you need.”

Sebastian's eyes flickered over the box's contents. “Grandpa almost married Grimbaud's greatest love charm-maker,” he said, stunned.

“If she loved Dorian that much, Zita should be sympathetic. Tell her that you're Dorian's grandson. Maybe she'll allow for some things in that town to change,” said Marion.

Fallon placed the book on the table and wiped her hands on her thighs. Sebastian held the key to Zita's secret past. That could come in handy. But the love fortunes still concerned her. Even with Zita's blessing, their futures were set in stone.

Ultimately, Love controlled their fates. Zita only served as messenger.

*   *   *

The next morning, the snow fell heavy, threatening to block the roads. Fallon consulted the bus schedule and found a bus leaving for Grimbaud before lunch. She wished they could stay longer—she wanted to see Sebastian groom one of the dogs at the clinic—but school beckoned. They'd have to take the bus, or else risk being snowed in and stuck for a few days.

After making herself toast in Marion's kitchen, she heard Sebastian emerge from his room. He yawned, pillow creases tattooing his face and arms. “Grandma's gone out?”

Fallon nodded. “She's sitting on the back porch. Said she needed some quiet.”

He ran his fingers through his hair and worked on slicing a grapefruit for breakfast. “Nothing bothers her. Not the snow. Not broken cat bones. Not even Zita.”

“She has to be upset about Zita.”

“You don't know her,” Sebastian said, sticking a spoon in his grapefruit. “Grandma lives in the present. She practices the art of stripping away the emotions attached to bad memories. That's what she does when she meditates. It's how she gets through the failed surgeries and putting animals to sleep.”

Fallon finished her toast and washed her plate and cup in the sink. “I'm going to go out there.”