Unfinished (Historical Fiction) (19 page)

But lately, not so much.

All that had changed was her availability.

She liked men and, it turned out, so had her fiance.

Sometimes you can have a little too much in common.

“Hello? Jill?” Miles glared at her. “I asked a question.”

“Sorry. What's that?”

“You said 'purported.' Esther Nourse may or may not have been her lesbian lover?”

She nodded. “Right. I have records documenting their friendship. I know they had some sort of bond going back to high school, and that Nourse lent her money for a trip to San Diego. That trip came about a year before she went into her hermit stage.”

“So why assume they were lovers?” Seth asked.

“I'm not. Lilith Stone never married, and because there are no records of her having a relationship with any man, some scholars believe she and Nourse had a 'Boston marriage.' The relationship would have been considered a dear friendship in their time. One detail I've found: Lilith visited a Dr. David Burnham shortly after he gave a lecture on lesbianism.”

“A what?” Miles asked.

“A presentation on what was then called 'sexual inversion.' Female homosexuality. Burnham was a well-known sexologist in his time here in Boston. In fact – ” She stifled a giggle.
My gynecologist is also named Dr. Burnham.
Wonder if they're related
. She nearly blurted those words out, but literally bit her lips to hold back.

“In fact...” Miles drew out the words as if speaking with a kindergartner.

“I need to learn more, though.”
Mask. Turn your face into a mask
. She went from friendly to cold and stared at Miles icily.

“So you seem to specialize in uncovering people who live in the closet,” Miles said under his breath. A butterfly of anxiety fluttered in her chest, her blush turning from arousal to anger.

“Cut it out,” Seth hissed across the table to Miles, hands flexing in anger.
Whoosh.
There went her heat level. From freezing hands to burning cheeks as Seth leaned forward on the table, those muscled arms with a sprinkling of sandy hair resting in front of her, hands she couldn't get out of her mind lately.

Miles smirked. Wound delivered.

“That's enough. For the day, I mean.” Dr. Miller-Konitz looked pointedly at his watch and stared Miles down. “Good work, Jill. Seth, you're on for next week.” The rest of the grad students filed out. Jill stayed in her seat, struggling to put a cap on her feelings. Organizing her brief bag seemed like a safe course.

“Hey, good presentation.” Seth leaned over her shoulder and peered at a copy of a photo she had in her hand. “Who's that? Lilith Stone?”

“No. Esther Nourse.” Wild coils of curly hair framed the woman's up-do, the effect a bit like Marie Curie's laboratory photos, with hair a giant rat's nest struggling to look presentable. Nourse's eyes were as wild as her hair, giving her a slightly maniacal, unpredictable look.

“Miles is an asshole.” Seth put his hand on her shoulder, which immediately prickled with fire.
Breathe, Jill. Breathe.
Maintain a steady rate of respiration. She wanted to turn and kiss him, touch him, smell him. Two years of fighting her feelings and now, now she had a tiny chance. A crack in a shut door. A wedge.

An opening that could be filled.

Instead, she inhaled. Then exhaled. Maintained composure.

“You know he just comes to these meetings to trip people up.” He squeezed her gently and let go, the absence of his hand worse than its presence. Desire filled her belly, her throat, and she fought for control.

Where was this sudden rush coming from?

And whatever it was, how could she quell it?

Swallowing hard, she opened her mouth to speak. Unsteady tones blurted out, “Yeah. I know.”

His warm smile spread across a kind, open face.

“You want to go grab a coffee?”

Yes. With you, tomorrow morning. In my bedroom.

“No, thanks. I have to go dig through some digitized images and email a few archivists in Toronto.” She pretended she needed to check the time, breathing in deeply, catching a touch of his scent. A lightly scented soap, with cloves and musk. A sporty scent, of biking and sweat and man.

A scent she could almost lick.

Biting her lips together, she smiled awkwardly, caught his eye for a second, then looked away. Could he read her mind? Was she that obvious? All she could helplessly do in the face of this wave of attraction was to escape. So she did.

“Sorry, Seth. Gotta go. See you later.” Slinging her brief bag over her shoulder, she walked away, imagining his eyes boring into her back, shoulder still stinging, alive and flush, from his touch.

Was he imagining that?

Two years. He'd been biding his time for two years now, wondering if he's ever have a chance. Watching her in that seminar made him feel like time was measured drop by drop, her long brown hair pulled back in a pony tail, revealing an extraordinarily attractive face, compelling eyes pulling him in. Those bright blue eyes, a cerulean he could lose himself in.

Eagerly.

Never, in two years, had she hinted at any sort of interest. Of course, she'd been with Joe for much of that time. Seth had played the role of nice, benign friend.

Two damn years.

Play it casual. Asking her out for coffee wasn't any big deal. They'd gone out a million times. Friends. Just friends.

But now she was available. So was he. Did she...was she...?

He chuckled to himself as he walked to the coffee shop. This kind of uncertainty was for high school. Not a 30 year old man.

Warmth coursed through him, the rush of possibility.

Maybe it was finally time.

He'd played time to his advantage. Waiting worked.

Yet she'd turned him down for coffee.

Across the snowy field a red hat caught his eye. Jill. Walking off toward the library. Miles followed her, a few beats behind. Coincidence? Miles was preparing for his research year, just like Seth and Jill. They'd wrap up their classwork and spend the next year in archives. Working in the library wasn't Miles' style; he was well-off enough to hire undergraduates to pull his articles for him. Actual work and Miles didn't go together.

Miles split off, following a different path, toward the parking garage. An uneven laugh, involuntary and full of relief, poured out of Seth. He ran a hand through his hair.

Get a grip.

The thought of anyone else with Jill consumed him. This opening, this time after her breakup, tormented him. Move too fast and scare her off.

Wait too long, and someone else might fill the void.

Maybe time wasn't his friend after all.

Chapter Two

T
HE HEELS OF HER BUTTONED
boots caught in the crevices between cobblestones as she click-clacked her way down an unnamed street. Her corset felt like a vice and although she increased her pace, she felt as if she were walking through water, her feet clawing the rocky bottom of a clear lake. She reached up to check her hat and adjust the pin, the feather damp and limp now as the fine mist slowly turned to a full deluge, the incongruity of bright sunshine and sheets of rain giving the stone-lined street with its row houses and gas lamps the feel of an impressionist painting.

Spine stiff and straight, she walked faster, cursing herself for failing to bring an umbrella but tucking the thought away in the back of her mind. A slight smile played on her lips as she thought of him and she willed her tiny feet to walk faster, each step closing the gap of thousands of miles, a journey she'd begun weeks before. The long buildings sectioned into row houses with differing facades, some a pale stone with black iron detailing and others with painted wood exteriors, offered no asylum from nature's wrath.

She would appear before him with the countenance of a drenched match girl. He would have to help her out of her wet clothes to prevent a case of the chills. The thought aroused her, but she kept her face set like a stone statue, neutral and unyielding.

Beggars reached toward her and asked for money in a foreign language she didn't know, yet somehow spoke fluently. At one point she stopped a man in uniform and asked for directions to a building. The police officer replied and she thanked him, changing direction and seeing the church steeple, knowing her destination was just around the corner. Soon she spotted the gray stone building, the thick wooden door, and she walked into the lobby, a feeling of relief and excitement blending at once in her chest.

She asked at the reception desk for his room. Without warning, as if time fast-forwarded, she was in front of a door, knocking. The door slowly inched backward and a gorgeous Latina woman with long, black, wavy hair answered, her skin the color of fine, pale silk, her red lips lush with smudged makeup and chafed from activity.

Next she saw her own reflection in an enormous mirror edged with color, her eyes wild and mouth twisted in a tortured expression, a chandelier glittering in the backdrop. But the face wasn't hers; it was a small-boned blond woman, with red-rimmed China-blue eyes and a sharp jaw, her wet hat hanging on an unkempt hairdo by a loose pin. Her heart slammed in her chest and she clawed at her collarbone, digging through the fabric of her bodice to find air.

Suddenly she was running back down the street, holding up skirts with her tiny hands and thin wrists, struggling on the cobblestones, running and not caring that she made a scene as onlookers stared. Tears streaked her face and she found a small park bench many blocks away and sat and cried until a small child with a crossed eye placed his filthy hand on her gloved arm, offering her a sweet in his other hand.

A ragged sob filled her lungs, choking her into consciousness. That was the point in the dream when Jill woke up every night. This night was no different, and she found herself awake in mid-cry, her pillow soaked with drool and tears, her heart racing. The room was still and the air choked her, stifling and warm. Red electronic numbers blinked 12:00 and she heard sirens in the distance, closer to the city center. The electricity must have gone out again; she reached for the nightstand lamp, pulled the chain, and was relieved when the light came on.

A deep breath, measured and careful, in and out, helped restore some calm. That damn dream had been plaguing her since the spring of her senior year of college. The day after she received her acceptance letter to grad school it started, and not a night had gone by without Jill's waking in a panic, crying, the scent of wet stone and smoke filling her nostrils, the sob so mournful it felt like someone dear to her had just died.

It seemed to have deepened in the past month, as she'd ramped up her presentations at school and her research came together nicely, tying up loose ends. And the dream had changed, the man morphing into someone new sometimes.

Seth.