Winter in Full Bloom (9 page)

“Well, if you want to find your sister,” the young woman went on to say, “I’d come back every evening. You’re bound to catch her eventually. Good luck.”

“Thanks for your help.”

“Sure.” The woman turned back toward her group.

When I glanced around, Marcus stood nearby. I told him, “I’m ready to go. I guess you heard all that.”

“I did. So, are you encouraged?”

“Yes, and I’m going to be right here tomorrow evening.”

“I’ll come with you. That is, if you want me to.” Marcus’s expression was a question mark dotted with hope.

“I do, but are you sure? All this endless standing and waiting can’t be that fun for you.”

“Trust me, there’s no hardship in being with you.” He gestured toward his jacket, which I was still wearing. “I almost forgot,” he said. “Look in the left pocket of my jacket.”

When I did, I pulled out my charm bracelet and gasped. “How did … ? Where? Oh no. I rolled it off my hand and forgot it.”

“I happened to see it as we were leaving the restaurant.”

I held the bracelet to my heart. “Oh, if I had lost this I would have been sooo disappointed. My daughter, Julie, gave this to me. The charms represent our lives … our loves.” I lifted it to show him the tiny charms and explained the significance of each. “I suppose someday I’ll add a silver flute to my bracelet. At least I hope to.”

“It’s going to be fine. You’re going to find Camille. God didn’t bring you this far for nothing.”

I rolled the bangle onto my wrist. We strolled back toward my hotel, and I tried not to think about how ill Camille might be. How many evenings would I have to show up to finally meet her? And what if I used all of my evenings waiting for her and then found out it wasn’t Camille after all? The word
devastating
came to mind, but I remembered the two mustard seeds under the glass dome in Mother’s study. “Marcus?”

“Hmm?” He seemed to have wandered off somewhere. Maybe he was thinking about his parents again. Poor man.

“I was curious about something when you talked about you and your sister. Do you mind if I ask you a question? Please tell me if I’m being nosy.”

“Ask me anything.” Like a gentleman he held my elbow as we crossed the street.

“When you said you were tired that night of the accident, I just wondered if you suffered with insomnia … like I do.”

“Yes.”

I stopped on the sidewalk and touched his arm. “What keeps you awake? I know you must think about the accident, but you said you were tired before that. I just wondered about it.”

Marcus stared at me blankly for a moment as if he were looking through me into a place where I couldn’t go—where he was truly alone. “All right.” He offered me a surrendering nod. “Instead of walking outside here in the cold wind, let’s go back to your pub through Southgate. It’s a complex of shops that’s more enclosed. I can show you something that will help you to understand.”

“Yes, please.” For some reason I really did want to know more, to understand. My curiosity surrounding the man, as well as my empathy, was growing by the hour. “Pub?” I suddenly thought to ask.

He smiled. “People use the word
pub
here for hotel.”

“Oh.” When we’d walked past a few businesses—a jewelry store, a café, and various clothing shops—we came across a quaint bookstore.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Okay.”

He escorted me inside and led me to the children’s section. I noticed a few of Julie’s favorite books spread out face forward on a big oak display. Books I’d read to her so many times that we’d loved all the pretty off like the velveteen rabbit. I ran my finger along the brightly colored books and let the wonderful memories trickle down like a soft rain. “When Julie was five she called all her picture books ‘story lovies.’”

“That sounds adorable.” Marcus picked up one of the hardbound picture books and handed it to me.

I looked at the title.
When Monsters Come Out to Play.
Mmm. “My daughter and I both loved this book.” I gave him a sheepish grin. “I still do. What a whimsical concept, that monsters get lonely, and they’re just looking for someone to play with … someone to be their friend.” I opened the book to the first page. “And the man’s use of watercolor is so distinctive and lovely. I’ve never seen anything else like it.” I looked at the author-illustrator’s name with affection—Miles Hooper. “Little does Mr. Hooper know … well, this was my miracle book when Julie was five. It’s how I got her to sleep. It made all of our lives so much easier back then. In fact, I could kiss that Hooper fellow, whoever he is.”

Marcus grinned then—a big satisfied grin that looked both enchanting and curious. “The author does know. That is, he knows now. And a kiss was far more than I’d hoped for this evening.”

“You’d
hoped for. Wait a minute. What are you saying?
You’re
the author? You’re Miles Hooper? You’re kidding, right? You’re not kidding …”

“
Miles Hooper, my pseudonym
.” Marcus stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

So, while Marcus was busy looking hangdog I was hyperventilating, knowing that Miles Hooper was actually conversing with me. My goodness. Would I ever recover from such serendipity? And how wonderful to do something so creative with one’s life. Of course, wouldn’t any job be more creative than being a secretary? But knowing Marcus was Miles explained so many things—his talk of color and imagination and the angles of the sunlight.

“Miles Hooper,” Marcus continued to say, “has been my pen name ever since I started writing at age seventeen, which is why I had a trust fund with my money. The Monster book did well for me and was made into a TV movie for kids. After that experience, writing became my life.”

“It’s incredible.” I held the book to me. “I’m blown away. But why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because I don’t do this anymore. I’m no longer Miles Hooper.”

“Really? Why not?” And then I realized Marcus was trying to tell me more about his sister, or his life without her. I glanced around, glad that the shop was quiet. “Is it about Ellie?”

Marcus nodded. “A few years ago I got writer’s block. Terrible stuff. Nothing seemed to work. I threw most everything out, and the stuff that didn’t get thrown out was published, which sold maybe thirty copies. Probably bought by some of my fellow writers who felt sorry for me.”

He released a mirthless laugh. “That’s an exaggeration, of course, but the publisher was not amused with my sales. And who could blame them? They’d sunk a fortune into my books, packaging them so they were irresistible to kids, marketing them to the hilt, and paying for special placement on the bookstore tables, end caps, that sort of thing … just to see the books fail.”

“So, this is what made you stop?” I took a step closer to him, hoping for more of the story.

“No. There’s more. For some unknown reason, the inspiration came again. When it arrived I recognized it right away. But it was like putting a feast before a starving man. I became a madman working until all hours … too scared to stop. I thought the muse might disappear again like it did before. I worked so hard I became perpetually exhausted.” He sighed. “And that’s the reason I was so tired that night. And why I’ll never write or illustrate again. Because one of the sweetest, dearest persons I ever knew is dead because of me and my lunacy.”

My fingers ached from holding the picture book so tightly. I wanted to give Marcus a hug, but didn’t. Mist stung my eyes instead. “I’m sorry. It’s such a sad story.”

“I didn’t mean to make you sad. You wanted to know why I was tired that night, and I really did want to tell you. To show you a piece of my life. Or what used to be me. There’s just a shadow left of Miles. No more.”

I put the book on the shelf. “Thank you for that. For showing me.”

“No one else knows here, none of my friends. It just didn’t seem necessary to tell them. But it felt important now for some reason.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“This life is a dangerous place to be, at least with me at the helm. Not sure any woman deserves that.” Behind Marcus’s smile there seemed to be a dozen doubts and queries.

Before I could respond a clerk popped her head around the corner of one of the shelves and said, “We’re closing soon.”

“We’re just going.” Marcus led me out of the store, and we walked in silence for a while toward my hotel. “Selfishly … well, I hope what I’ve told you tonight doesn’t change anything between us. Although I would understand if it did.”

“It changes nothing. I promise.”
Except to endear you to me even more
.

“Good.”

When we were in the lobby of my hotel Marcus pulled me to the side, to a quiet area near a cluster of couches. “It was a very fine evening, Lily.”

“Yes, it was. Thank you for dinner, for helping me with my sister, and for sharing your heart, well, for everything.” Amazing, how an evening could start out one way and end another. “Here, don’t let me forget this.” I slipped his jacket off my shoulders and helped Marcus put it back on.

“I’ll let you get to sleep now. It probably feels like the longest day of your life.”

“It does, but not in a bad way.”

Marcus hesitated and then said, “Until your sister performs in the evening you’ll have some time on your hands in the morning and afternoon. I’d love to show you some of the city if you’re up for it.”

I thought for a moment, but not too long. “I would like that.”

“I could pick you up at 10:00. It’ll give you a chance for some extra sleep and a leisurely breakfast.”

“Sounds good.”

Marcus backed away but didn’t take his eyes off me. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hold you to that kiss.”

“Kiss? What kiss?”

“The one you promised Miles Hooper in the bookstore. You know, because I’d written the miracle book that got your Julie to sleep every night. But it would be cheating you, of course, since you didn’t know Miles was me when you promised a kiss.” There was that twinkle again.

I’d grown accustomed already to his playful blue sparkle, but there were other “looks” attached to it—perhaps shyness and a boyish anticipation?

“I wouldn’t feel cheated.” I stepped over to him, rose on my tiptoes, and gave him a brief but genuine kiss on the cheek. “Good night. Thanks for the evening.”
You really did make it memorable.
But then I flushed hotter than a summer day in the Outback, since I not only surprised Marcus but I shocked myself with my display of affection.

His face lit with surprise and something else. Gratitude? “Are you sure I don’t just have you mesmerized?”

“Maybe a little.” But then maybe I didn’t mind so much.

“Good night … Love.” He grinned. “See you tomorrow.” And then he turned and walked out of the hotel lobby.

I didn’t whirl up to my room like a cloud on a windy day, but it wasn’t quite the slogging gait I’d anticipated earlier in the day. In fact, so far, nothing I’d experienced had been anything even close to what I’d expected in the Land Down Under.

So, God, what do You have planned for me tomorrow?
A little later, while snuggled under a white down comforter, I fell into dreaming with that very query on my lips.

The next morning, I rose late
, feeling stiff and groggy and jet-lagged. My back ached. My neck ached. I suppose all of me ached—that is, I ached to find what I was searching for—whom I was searching for. I stared at the bathroom mirror and leaned in to get a good look at myself. Would this be the day I found my living reflection? Only God knew.

I texted Julie and dressed in several layers, which seemed to be the best way to handle Melbourne’s four seasons in a day. No matter how tired I felt I was determined to enjoy myself on my little outing with Marcus, but I had no idea what he’d cooked up for our adventure. Guess he wanted it to be a surprise. There was no skirting around the truth, though—the man I thought was a bagpipe-playing bum had already grown on me like Spanish moss on live oak.

After breakfast I made my way downstairs to the lobby, where Marcus was already waiting for me.