“Yeah, I know that.”
“I won’t be able to stay with you. I’m going to be gone a lot.”
“I understand. I don’t expect you to, Tex.”
I lay on my back and stared at her tiny hand on my chest. “Why do you have so many
nightmares?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Do you want to talk about them? You never tell me what they’re about and it might help you.”
“I’ve always had them.” It wasn’t an answer, but I decided to drop it. I’d been down this road
with her too many times to count. Even with me, she was private about some things. I was there for
her and helpless at the same time.
I sat up, removing my St Michael’s medallion. “Sit up for a sec.”
She did and I placed it over her head. “What are you doing?” she asked, turning over the shiny
piece of silver in her hand.
“It’ll be like I’m here when I’m not.”
“I can’t take this. Your father meant for you to have this. I can’t—” She made a move to take it
off, but I grabbed her hand before she could.
“Relax, girl, I’m not giving it to you. I’m lending it to you. I want you to have it in case you have
a nightmare or get scared.” I knew the only way she’d accept it was if I added that contingency. She
was quiet for a moment.
“When do you want it back?”
“You keep it until you don’t need it anymore.”
“That could be a long time.”
“I know.”
“Thank you.” There was some deeper gratitude than I was expecting with those words. I didn’t
have an appropriate response so I just nodded and lay back down.
“Let’s hit the hay. We gotta get up early tomorrow.”
She settled back down. I lifted the comforter over her. “’Kay,” she said softly.
Chapter Nine
Present day
I scanned through the assignments looking for Sophie’s. Jessica and I usually split up the essays,
but I insisted I would grade them all and the unsent letters. After all, Jessica would become
suspicious if I just asked for Sophie’s.
Jessica had asked me out before, but, of course, I had refused. Besides the fact that it was against
school policy, it just felt wrong. It actually never felt right with anyone. I was too busy, or some might
say obsessed, with looking for my Lenore. My relationships were sexually satisfying but devoid of
emotional investment.
The paper on Sophie’s favorite book by Thomas Hardy was well-written and interesting, but it
gave me no insights. Thomas Hardy novels were so sad that I wasn’t sure if Sylvie would have
picked it, but then again, it had been almost ten years.
The unsent letters proved much easier. I decided not to grade them, but just give credit for
turning them in. They were, after all, emotional responses, and how could you judge something that
came from the heart? I used a lined sheet of paper to cover the next sentence as I read so the words
would be revealed to me. I thought maybe if I did this without any pretenses I would be able to tell
which one was hers. One in particular gave me great hope.
Dear Professor,
I watch you from my perch, a tall, beautiful man full of passion and grace. As you read from a
book, I can see the flexing of your strong arms and the anguish in your lovely face. The sweet
Southern twang of your voice drips with tantalizing tones of mischief. It makes me drip. The
gorgeous golden locks of hair that fall just so across your brow in a perfect flip. The graceful walk
hindered by the slightest limp. The sweet dimple that appears when you smile melts my heart with
consuming desire. The smile is so rare, I wonder why that is. All I wish for, all I want is for the
charming professor to look my way just once.
Was this Sylvie? I hesitated revealing the last line, trying to get my heartbeat in check.
Love always, Miss Melanie Adams.
Fuck.
I should have known better. Sylvie wouldn’t have written me a gushing poem, rhyming ‘drip’
with ‘flip’ in some lame-ass lyrical prose that didn’t meet any stanza requirements. It wasn’t her
style. Why had I assigned this dumbass homework in the first place? Now I’d have to talk about the
impropriety to that damn girl in the front row who obviously had some misguided crush on me.
I did away with the whole anonymous thing and just read the rest of the letters in plain sight. It
would be an understatement to say Sophie Becker’s letter was a disappointment, although it was a
poem.
Dear Barista,
I waited in line for twenty minutes. I dislike the pretentious atmosphere here. Why must it be
your call to rename large, medium and small? Why are there so many blends? I just want
something hot with caffeine…maybe some sugar and cream? Is it too much to ask? Too much to
dream? Coffee should be brewed and consumed not contrived in the boardroom. I don’t want it
steamed, whipped or blended. I want it in an old-fashioned sort of way with a paper cup that I
don’t have to display.
Sincerely,
Sophie Becker
Nice. I asked for an unsent letter to anybody and the girl wrote a complaint sonnet to her local
coffee shop.
I was acting a fool. If she were Sylvie, surely she would just tell me and not have me go through
this heartache. My Sylvie wouldn’t do that to me. I had to face it. Sylvie was dead.
I looked at my watch. I had a mind to cancel my plans, but if there was any night I needed a
drink, it was tonight.
* * * *
“Hey, man,” Tony greeted me, smacking me on the back as I took up residence at our usual table.
“How’s things, Doc?” I asked.
“Not bad. You know how it is, one step forward, ten back.” He was still wearing his
deliveryman’s uniform.
Tony was one of the few friends I’d made in Portland. We frequented the same bar. At first,
we’d just talked about football and a friendly rivalry had ensued as we debated the merits of the
Cowboys versus the Giants, but then we’d started discussing life in general. Tony was an orphan and
he’d confided in me. Since I’d lost my dad, I knew some of what he was going through. It had been
during one of those nights after a few too many Alabama Slammers when my Texas twang came out in
full force that I’d revealed the story of Sylvie. Surprisingly, Tony hadn’t judged. He’d just listened to
me go on about the girl I’d loved and lost whom I was still searching for.
I liked Harkin’s place. It was a dive bar by all considerations, but I preferred that. It was a hole
in the wall where a man could do his drinking in peace.
Molly met us there. “How are you, Caleb?” she asked me as she took up the seat between Tony
and me. She always called me by my full name. Molly was a stunning girl with shiny platinum-blonde
hair, baby blue eyes and legs that could stretch and clamp around a man’s waist perfectly. She didn’t
fit at Harkin’s place, but she always insisted on meeting us there. She was a good friend. Even though
I’d ended things, I missed our casual hookups. She wanted more and I couldn’t give it to her. Hell,
she deserved more.
“Acceptable, and you?”
“The same,” she replied, as I slid the pitcher of beer to her. “Did you order the chicken wings?”
Tony nodded. It was our usual greeting.
“Any word on our Raven Girl?” Tony asked, referring to my nickname for Sylvie.
I thought of telling him about Sophie Becker, but I really didn’t want to go into it, especially with
Molly there. In fact, I wanted to forget the whole stupid idea that Sophie and Sylvie were one and the
same. “No, I think I’m going to give up the ghost finally…or maybe I should say the raven.”
Molly leaned into the table, patting my hand. “I think that’s a good idea.” Unlike Tony, Molly did
judge me. The only reason I’d told her was because she’d been so upset when I ended things. I
couldn’t be any more to her than a friend and occasional sex partner. The disclosure hadn’t been my
brightest idea. Like my family, she thought I needed some serious counseling.
“No, it’s not. C’mon, Tanner, you know in your heart she’s out there. You said so yourself that
there was a drive in you to find her. You’re just giving up like that?”
Molly shot Tony a warning glare, but he ignored her in typical Tony fashion. She’d never really
cared for Tony. It didn’t help that he encouraged me in my crazy pursuit. He thought it was romantic,
which was weird considering he never talked about the opposite sex with any long-term goals. I knew
he had a slew of girls hanging off him. I mean, the guy was a weight-lifter for God’s sake. He’d
actually helped me get back into shape. I hadn’t let myself go exactly, but my six-pack had
disappeared for a while. I didn’t consider myself vain, but I missed the definition my body once had.
I’d even started running again despite my limp.
Molly thought I was a workout fiend. It was true, I worked out a lot, but it wasn’t an addiction
like she thought. It wasn’t about the health benefits. It was the distraction that I craved from the dark
thoughts that encircled my head. What could I have done differently? How many ways could I have
saved her? Currently, the answer to the last question was maxed out at fifty-six.
I laughed cynically. “Let’s face it, I’m no Sherlock Holmes. Hell, I’m not even Monk. Besides I
think it’s a wasted pursuit. I’ve read too many novels, and they’ve colored my perspective. Call it an
occupational hazard.”
“So you’re just giving up?” Tony asked, narrowing his eyes at me.
I shrugged. “I think I’m just going to live my life for a while, and not focus so much on the past.”
“So, what does that mean, Caleb?” Molly asked.
Shit.
I knew what she was thinking. I wasn’t ready for a relationship yet. The truth was I had never
allowed myself to mourn for Sylvie. I needed to do that before I completely moved on.
“I’m not sure.” I smiled at her because she looked hurt. The last thing I wanted to do was cause
her more pain. “Let’s talk about you, Molls. Do you like your new job?” Molly, a recent graduate
from nursing school, had just started working in the field.
She sighed. “Eh, it’s more boring than I thought it would be and my feet hurt. I’m wondering if
all those years were wasted, and I chose wrong.”
“You’ll get used to it. Just give it a chance,” I replied, refilling her beer mug.
“You think so?”
“It’s what you’re meant to be doing. You heal people. That’s pretty amazing, girl.”
She smiled, but it didn’t light up her face like it usually did. I knew what she was thinking, and a
new wave of guilt hit me. She was wondering why she couldn’t heal me.
The poor girl didn’t know I was a lost cause.
Chapter Ten
Excerpt from
Raven Girl
Age 16
“I can’t believe you made a casserole,” I said, taking the large pan from her. We usually cooked
on Sundays to give Momma a break. Actually, Sylvie and Mandy cooked. I did dishes and set the
table. Everyone agreed it was less dangerous that way.
Sylvie still came over for supper every night. Mandy and she often practiced on the piano after
we ate. It comforted my mother to hear them sing. I knew it was the main reason they both did it.
“It’s your mom’s recipe,” she replied with obvious pride.
I moved it up and down in my hands. “I can tell from the weight. I’ve carried it a lot.”
She laughed and followed me into the kitchen.
“I can’t believe you’re going to take art class with me. Didn’t the guys on the team make fun of
you?” She started dishing up the casserole as Mandy prepared the salad.
“I don’t care what they think. Milk or juice?” I asked them as I reached for glasses.
“Milk,” Sylvie replied.
“Juice,” Mandy answered.
We all moved effortlessly in the small kitchen, working efficiently around each other.
“I told you I was going to take art as an elective.”
“Since when don’t you care what the boys on the team think?” she asked dryly.
“Since I figured out I could beat any one of them up.”
“Sylvie, are you going to help me with my presentation?” Mandy chimed in.
“Sure, what’s it on?”
“I have to give a speech on who I think the most popular president of all time is.”
“Who did you choose, princess?” I asked.
Mandy shot me a sarcastic glance. She didn’t like the nickname anymore, but I still used it once
in a while just to irk her.
“Lyndon B. Johnson.”
“Hmm, I don’t know if he was the most popular of all time,” Sylvie responded.
“Sure he was,” Mandy insisted.
“I’m pretty sure he’s not on anyone’s top list,” I added.
She stopped her work, giving me a look that could cut through ice. “He was, and I’ll tell you
why. When I was a little kid, I knew of only three presidents. George Washington because he was the
first, our current president because he was current, and Lyndon B. Johnson and he was the thirty-sixth
president, so what does that tell you?”
“It tells me you were a dumbass kid,” I replied. The front door creaked open then, telling me my
mother was home as soon I made the comment. Mandy heard it too and I knew she’d take full