Promise Me Anthology (23 page)

“That is not a secret for any woman to tell
you, of all people,” she said with a wink. Then she got into the
limousine, disappearing from sight.

As I watched them drive away, I chuckled.
At least I know one secret. Next time I have trouble finding my
way into a woman’s heart, I’ll ask another woman for
advice.

I turned, almost running into another pretty
young woman dressed as a peasant behind me. I gave her a smile,
then a curious look. Her expression was mournful.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I think it’s terrible what they did to you
tonight,” the woman said hesitantly. “That woman helping her
brother spirit away your date. I just wanted to say I was
sorry.”

“It’s all right,” I said, seeing my limousine
pull up the drive. “He really likes her and she likes him. I don’t
want to stand in the way of that.”

“You’re very understanding.”

No, I’m not. But I am a realist
. I
took her hand and kissed it. “What’s your name?”

“Jessica,” she said shyly.

She was beautiful. Better than that, she
likely was intelligent and had a better than average chance of
knowing some history, with her choice of dress. Odds were she would
also accept if I asked her to be a donor.
“Do you like
music?”

Jessica nodded.

“Then get in, my dear,” I said kissing her
hand. “I’m a musician. And I’d love to play you a song or
three.”

Night Music

(Previously Published in Midnight Thirsts 2)

Krys walked slowly toward the low stone wall,
the roaring of the falls capturing all her attention as she rested
her hands on the cold rock slabs. The view was as magnificent as
ever; the towering waterfall spanning the wide river, the trails
beside it framed with stone and concrete walls more than fifty feet
below. The early spring afternoon felt more like late summer, the
air balmy and comfortable, even in her T-shirt and jeans.

Letchworth State Park.
The place was
exactly the same, but everything was different. Her parents were
gone, and now her brother was, too. They’d come here as a foursome
every summer and stayed for a week, renting a rough built cabin. It
had been bare bones, lacking heat, water, or even a private
outhouse. But it had always been a good time to her and Bill:
fishing, hiking, playing games, and encountering the wildlife. Each
summer, her parents always treated Krys and her brother to one
special adventure. For Krys, that had been the whitewater rafting
outfit that operated below the lower falls. For her brother, Bill,
that had been either horseback riding or a ride over the river via
hot air balloon.

They’d had such good times here...

Pretending to brush back her hair, Krys
brushed away a tear, conscious of the many tourists still snapping
pictures of the falls
. Why had she come here? What had she hoped
to find?

“Excuse me,” an old woman said, tapping her
elbow. “But we’d like to get a picture together. Would you take one
of us, please?”

Krys nodded, then snapped a few pictures as
the couple posed in front of the falls. Handing back the camera,
she hurried inside the Glen Iris Inn, calling herself an idiot.
Ringing the bell, she waited.

A desk clerk came in quickly. “Can I help
you?”

“Krys Markman,” she said. “I’m checking in.
I’m staying in Caroline’s Cottage.”

“Please fill this out.” The woman handed her
a form. “And I need a credit card to make an imprint.”

Krys handed over her credit card, then took
it back a few minutes later, handing in the filled out form.

“Staying with us all week?”

And probably going to rue it
, Krys
thought miserably. “Yes.”

“Have you stayed with us before?”

“Yes,” Krys said quickly. “I’ll just need one
key.”

The woman began reciting the checkout times
and other rules, all of which Krys knew by heart. She fidgeted,
then grabbed the key, not replying to the startled clerk as she ran
outside. A couple jumped back as she nearly banged in to them.

“Hey!” the man said, throwing an arm in front
of his wife to shield her. “Watch where you’re going—”

“Sorry,” Krys stammered, flushing.

The couple gave her another dirty look, then
walked upstairs hand in hand. Krys sat down in an empty wrought
iron chair, rubbing her eyes.

Enough already.
This was her vacation,
a long break to recoup before embarking on a new chapter in her
life. Relaxing was the first step. Walking was out; the lamps
scattered around the Glen Iris Inn were coming on. So it would have
to be alcohol instead.

* * * *

Krys sipped her wine flight, while looking
around at her setting, marveling that so much was still the same,
and still so beautiful. She’d been in these same surroundings so
many times, yet they were still magical to her, even as their
familiarity soothed her...

“Will you want dinner?” her waiter asked
delicately. “Or would you like to try one of the wines you
sampled?”

Where had the time gone? Krys had finished
all three samples already. While another flight and more
reminiscing sounded wonderful, it was better not to tempt fate, not
when she had a hell of a climb in the dark to reach her rented
house. “Yes.” She chose an entrée at random from the menu, then one
of the wines she’d sampled.

As the waiter walked away, Krys noticed a
tall man sitting by himself off in the corner. He was writing
something by the light of the table candle. What was compelling was
he was doing it in longhand in a small paper book instead of via
electronic device. The act was so uncommon that she stared at him.
Within a few seconds, the man raised his eyes and caught her
staring, his dark eyes meeting hers. Krys immediately looked down,
flushing. By the time she gathered enough courage to look up again,
the man was gone, his seat empty.

The waiter came back, her wine on a tray.
“We’re all out of the salmon, Ma’am,” he said apologetically.
“Would you like to choose something else?”

The only craving Krys had was to find out who
that handsome man had been. Food could wait. “There was a man
sitting out here. Do you know who he was?”

The waiter shifted uneasily. “We’re not
allowed to give out information on guests, Ma’am. Sorry.”

“So he is staying here?” Krys said hopefully.
“Will he be here a few more days?”

The waited leaned down slightly, his
expression secretive. “Aren’t you staying for a few days in
Caroline’s Cottage?”

“Yes,” she answered conspiratorially.

“Then I’d advise you to get to know your
neighbor during your stay,” the waiter said meaningfully.

Krys looked at him in puzzlement. “What?”

The waiter straightened, then set down her
glass of wine. “Will you have another entrée, Ma’am?”

Comprehension dawned. “No,” Krys said,
hastily grabbing her purse. “Put my drinks on my bill.”

* * * *

The steep climb was long and wearying; mostly
from lack of light and that her decade old memory had identified it
as being much more fun. Or maybe it was just doing it alone,
without sharing the striving and complaining with someone else.

It seemed like ever since her parents had
died everything had gone wrong, cumulating with Bill’s death a few
months ago. She’d made one mistake after another, like Adam
and...

“Don’t think about him,” she murmured aloud
angrily, rubbing her left shoulder blade. She cracked a smile.
“You’ve got more important things to consider, like are you going
to make it to the crest of this hill?”

Taking a few deep breaths, Krys continued on
for another thirty minutes, her shoulders relaxing with relief when
she reached the top. Turning down the side road, she headed toward
her cottage, her eyes drawn to the expected but unfamiliar sight of
the Chalet, hoping to see the man from the patio. Yet the entire
place was dark, except the lowest level, where bright lights
shone.

Who in the hell would live in the cellar
with a wraparound balcony on both the second and third floors? The
mysterious stranger was certainly hot, but he was also weird. What
was he doing down there all by himself?

Maybe he’s not by himself, like you
are
, Krys thought.
Even if he is, it’s not your concern.
You’re here to focus on what comes next for you, not another
flash-in-the-pan romance that won’t last.

Annoyed at herself, Krys grabbed her bags
from the car, then hurried inside, exhausted from her climb. The
door opened with a hard push of her shoulder, the lock squealing
protest. Krys locked the door behind her, dropped the bags, and
then flipped on the lights.

“This is nice,” she said aloud, her eyes
roaming the cozy living room and stereo, the bright kitchen and the
white bathroom. Stairs led upward on the far wall. Krys grabbed her
clothes bag, and went upstairs, her shoes silent on the carpet.

There were three bedrooms. One faced the
falls, but just had a view of the forest. The opposite one viewed
the maintenance area. The third was the center room with one double
window. Krys chose that one, hanging up some of her clothes. Taking
out her book and cell phone, she laid them on the nightstand.
Unlocking the old-fashioned clasp, she swung wide the windows,
letting in the night air, the moonlight streaming down. She stopped
still for a second, sure she’d heard something. But there was
nothing but the sound of crickets and the wind through the
trees.

Krys ran her hands through her long brown
hair
. What had she thought she would hear? What was she doing
here, anyway? Trying to relive the good old days?

She crossed to her phone and turned it off.
It made sense to save the battery.
And why not?
There was no
one who would be calling her tonight. The divorce had been final
for three weeks now.

Krys sat down on the edge of the bed, looking
at her phone. She’d met Adam the afternoon she’d purchased it. Her
first practice picture with it had been one of him. Six months
later, Adam and Krys were married, her pregnancy already
showing.

Then Bill had been diagnosed with cancer.
With her parents gone, she was the only family he’d had to turn to.
Krys had taken care of him tirelessly, pushing herself hard. Too
hard, it turned out; she miscarried the baby just shy of six
months.

Adam had been devastated, especially to know
that with the complications Krys had suffered, they would never
have children. He withdrew from her, even as Bill got steadily
worse. Adam had served her with papers a few days before her
brother had died.

Ironic,
Krys thought bitterly.
My
phone contract lasted longer than my marriage.

Angrily, she lay down in bed, and turned off
the light. There was no use hashing over the past, or going over
all the roads she’d regretted taking. What she chose to do tomorrow
and after were the decisions that would shape the rest of her life.
Those were the ones she had to focus on.

* * * *

Krys jolted awake, blinking her eyes, her
hand moving for the light switch. But before she could turn it on,
strains of an unearthly song washed over her, freezing her
motionless. Captivated, she listened, the forlorn notes breaking
over her, their beauty and pain as one with hers, bringing up her
repressed feelings as tears slipped down her cheeks. Krys began
crying in racking sobs, huddled on the bed. When she quieted many
minutes later, the music had gone. Exhausted, she fell into a
dreamless sleep.

* * * *

The next morning, Krys lay in bed, pondering
the music she’d heard. It had been a violin, or some other string
instrument. That hadn’t been a dream, either; it had been real
enough to move her to tears. The creator had to be her mysterious
neighbor.

As much as she hadn’t wanted to cry, an
unseen weight had run out with her tears. Instead of thinking on
the past this morning, she was eager to explore. She also wanted to
talk to the man about his music, to tell him how it had moved her
last night. Intrigued, Krys decided that she would do her best to
accidentally meet him today. Pushing back the covers, she got
moving.

That morning she visited some of her family’s
favorite spots at the park, like Inspiration Point, the Tea Tables,
and St. Helena. In whole, Krys walked more than seven miles that
first day. Evening saw her sitting on the porch reading her book,
the sunset through the tops of the trees nearby, a light rain
pattering down.

Curiously, Krys peered over the top of her
book. She’d read less than a page in the thirty minutes she’d been
out here, hoping to catch sight of the neighbor. His vehicle, a
brand new GM truck, sat in the driveway of the Chalet, testament
that the man was home. Also, as dark had come on, the same basement
lights had also.

It was clear that the man wasn’t going to
come out for an evening stroll after another thirty minutes had
passed. Krys had moved past waiting for providence, and was now
working up her courage to walk over there and introduce herself.
The most he could say was that he wanted to be left alone.

The longer she waited, the more anxious she
became. Finally, closing her book with a snap, she tossed it on the
table and walked determinedly across the lawn to the huge house.
Should she go to the back door on the deck, or around to the front?
He was likely more able to hear her at the front door, if he really
was in the basement.

Krys took a deep breath and climbed the
steps. She knocked on the door, wincing at how loud the knocks
were, then stepped back, waiting. Minutes passed, but no one came
to the door.

He had to have heard her. Irritated, Krys
banged louder on the door, then stepped back, listening for
footfalls. There were none, the seconds again stretching into
minutes.