Magical Weddings (79 page)

I yank my arms inside my sleeves and shimmy out of my lacy bra as quickly and awkwardly as I can. If someone is watching me, I’m sure I appear as graceful as someone trying to escape from their straightjacket while being timed and attempting to escape from being drowned. I’m freaking Houdini, I decide, as I manage to wedge my favorite and most comfortable bra out from under the hem of my shirt and throw it down on top of Rook’s T-shirt. I scramble out of the way in time to watch the wave crash down and gobble up the enchanted circle like a hungry beast.

Blinking at how quickly everything disappears into the Pacific, I don’t notice the dip in the sand until my foot catches it and I crash onto my shoulder, my arms and hands neatly encased inside my clothes.

“Ouff!”
Marrying Rook better be worth this.

I roll over and work my hands back down the sleeves of my shirt and jacket and stare up at the cloud-darkened sky. Appreciating that all will go wrong if given the opportunity, the heavens decide that now is the time to crash down on Aspen Milan Morgan.

Drizzle turns to pelting rain and thunder booms out over the sea. The drying powder on my head, face, and neck has apparently burnt off because I’m suddenly soaked to the skin.

“If it isn’t hard, it probably isn’t worth doing,” I grumble again the sentiment I grew up hearing from Aunt Jet. It suddenly seems more pertinent than ever before. Gritting my teeth, I rise from the sand and retrieve the backpack and the bird cage in preparation for the final part of breaking the spell.

I thought I knew where the most western edge of the shore in Lane County was, but as I head toward the rocky section of beach jutting out into the ocean, I remember the old jetty stretching into the water twenty meters farther. With the tide now going out, the jetty will be the only place to complete what I came to do.

****

The words to follow, will be your guide,

As you give the gifts to the receding tide.

Five times chant the verse.

Let it consume you, as you break the curse.

Then honor Madeleine’s need to be a wife,

By sacrificing a corvid’s life.

Its heart will be given beneath the waning moon,

In the month of Taurus, and beyond the sandy dunes.

At the edge of the shore of the deepest sea,

Where the depths of love stretch to infinity.

Let the tears of lost love crash over the stars,

And ask that the curse leave no scars.

I repeat all the words as I approach the end of the rocky breakwater. My mom didn’t clarify if it was only part of what she wrote or the entire last page, so to be thorough, I memorized the whole thing.

Digging deep into my emotions to explore my feelings and open myself to the pain of centuries of Morgan women, while trying not to break my ankle or fall and shatter my skull, is a wee bit more challenging than I anticipated. The energy of the night helps keep me upright on the broken and crumbling stones and old concrete. I have to find my balance with every slippery seaweed and algae-covered step while holding the cage, but it only reminds me of every carefully placed caution I’ve put around my heart and my life. I didn’t want to fall in love. I knew all the warnings and the dangers involved since I was a little girl. I grew up constructing excuses to stay away from love like building a shield made of bricks. With each step I remove a brick and try to see what lies on the other side. I picture Rook standing there holding out his offer of lilies in a grove of aspen trees on a carpet of forget-me-nots waiting for my acceptance of marriage. As the tears collect, I let all the images of lost loves from my ancestors come to me. My Uncle Grant, Jet’s mysterious Bryant, Tori and her string of commitment phobic boyfriends, my long lost grandfather who I have only seen a picture of. Images of my many times great-grandmother, Madeleine, and her lost love, Henri, invade my mind and fill me with wretchedness and broken hearts. Then finally, my father and mother pour into my memories.

The pain is visceral and all consuming. It’s downright unbearable as I embrace it to the full extent of my capability. Then I say the verses for the final time. I pull my pack off my shoulder and let the strap hang on my arm as I reach inside and grab for the wedding gifts. I toss the assortment of foods, wine, coins, gloves, and other traditional gifts into the ocean as I call out over the crashing of waves against stone, “
The curse leaves no scars!”
I turn to the young crow inside the cage and close my eyes for a blessed moment of blackness without guilt. Rain drenches us both, but I appear to be affected worse by it as the wet runs over my scalp and down my neck soaking my back and working its way into my pants. I reach for the kitchen knife tucked into my pack.

“What are you doing out here!”

“Go away, Rook!” I yell without looking through the mist and fog toward the sound of his voice.

The wind lashes at me as I perch on the rocks. It’s taking all of my concentration not to fall into the ocean. Rook screaming behind me is not helping.

“Aspen! Get off those rocks. This storm is getting worse by the second.”

“I know! It’s the perfect time for a midnight swim and you’re not invited.”

“This is not the time for joking around!”

“Then get away from here, Rook. You’re distracting me and I’m going to slip!”

“I bloody know you are. Come off there,” he says as he begins to climb across the jagged stones of the jetty, heading straight for me.

As I turn to face Rook, the poor bird spreads his wings and tries to steady himself as the cage tips. The toe of my boot sticks in a crack between stones and I stumble. The bottom of the cage hits the rocks with a jolt. The crow panics and begins to beat itself against the bars. I want to cry and scream and get this over with before my window is closed for another five hundred years.

“I broke up with you, remember? Please, leave! I need to be alone,” I scream over the wind, thunder, and the pounding of the waves. A surge of water hits the side of the jetty near Rook and sends a massive spray of sea water over him.

“Rook!” I gasp, and take another bumbling step toward him.

He’s braced for the assault and as the water collapses back to its source, I see him continue down the length of the jetty.

“Don’t come any closer,” I yell, and turn back to my captive.

“I don’t care who you are. I wouldn’t let anyone stand out here. Have you lost your good sense? Come off of there immediately!”

“I can’t!” Determination fuels my efforts and I squat down and wedge the cage next to a rock and unlatch the door.

The bird fights me, snapping it beak and clawing at anything in a panicked and useless attempt at freedom. I swallow my reluctance and shame and betrayal for what I’m about to do and manage to pin its wings against its back and lift it out of the cage without hurting it. The irony that I still care about its well-being even though I’m about to split its chest open doesn’t escape me.

I grab the handle of Aunt Ivy’s knife from the side pocket of my little backpack. The handle feels cold and hard in my hand just like my heart for what I’m about to do. The fear from the bird penetrates my senses and I’m instantly overcome with the shakes. My entire body begins to tremble and I fumble the knife. It slides down the slanted stone next to my feet and I’m sure it’s headed straight into the waves, but it catches in a crack and sits there like a temptation straight from the devil.

Reaching for the knife, I underestimate how much more algae is at the edge of the jetty closest to the water. My boot hits a slipperier than snot patch and skids out from under me. To save myself from going in, I release the bird and grab the rocks.

This isn’t the part of the story where the majestic crow flutters away, disappearing into the preternatural night sky, its wings catching the moonlight like a glimpse into the netherworlds. Nope. With all my grace that the magical evening hasn’t given me, I more or less toss the helpless bird right into the sea.

“Noooo!” I scream, and almost topple into the water after it.

It’s a smudge of pitch on top of the undulating, swelling ocean. A flash of light glances across the jetty and momentarily makes me think more lightning is on top of us. I brace myself for the thunder and then realize that the light is coming from Rook. I scramble closer to the edge of the jagged stones, my boots disappearing beneath the swells.

“You’re not really going for a swim, are you?” he calls to me.

The flashlight beam flickers across the spread out wings of the crow. The bird bobs up and down with the movement and I’m almost positive that I can grab it if the next wave has even one miniscule speck of sympathy for my plight.

Over my shoulder I chance a glimpse at the love of my life and see that he’s only a few yards away.

“The crow. It’s in the water,” I beg as tears stream from my eyes and disappear into the rain.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing out here?” he asks, reaching out to me. “Be careful and come away from there.”

“No,” I say, and lean another inch closer to the crow. The bird knows I’m going to kill it and give its heart to the sea. His black eyes see my outstretched hand and he makes a last attempt at escaping my torture. He flutters and rises from the water, but a wave knocks him back down. “Where did it go?” I say with dread that the ocean has taken it and buried it beneath its surface. “Your light. Shine your light!” I say to Rook.

Rook’s flashlight is pointed at me and the most direct path for him to get to me, not at the bird drowning in the Pacific.

“It’s going to die and it’s all my fault.” By now, I’m a sobbing mess. “Help me look for it,” I plead stepping to the right where I think the bird must have been pushed into the rocks.

“Aspen!” Rook scolds as I move farther away from him and onto a broad and extremely slimy slab of stone.

My insistence finally gets through to him because the beam of light passes over me and moves along the water’s edge. The ray of light stops closer to Rook and we see the drenched and suffering bird at the same time. We move to rescue it, but my boyfriend is closer. He eases down to the edge, seemingly oblivious to the sea spray and pelting rain. He gets a good foothold and bends low, retrieving the sodden bird. He leans back against the stones with the crow cupped between his palms. I scramble to a higher point on the side of the jetty and half crawl and half climb toward my two crovids. Rook and a young crow. I could never hurt an innocent creature.
What was I thinking? I can’t even stand to see moths hitting the windshield of my car.

With gentle movements, Rook pivots and places the crow above him on a higher point on the rocks. Then he eases himself up.

“There, darling. Your little bird will be fine. Now let’s get off of this wet carnival ride, shall we?”

Using hands and feet for better grip I climb bear style over closer to him. He’s watching me and I can see the deep concern and worry etched in the lines around his eyes.

“I…” I can’t speak. Failure wasn’t in the plans tonight.

Rook’s going to have to break up with me permanently or die. These options are both suicide as far as my heart is concerned. I stare at his gorgeous face, rain dripping from every angle of his perfect body, and know in my soul that I let us down. I stop climbing and take a second to let the realization sink in.

“Keep coming,” he urges. “Basil is the true hero, Aspen. That dog of yours told me exactly where to find you.”

“Traitor,” I mumble. “Hero is not quite what I would call him,” I say as I climb over one more rock.

Rook moves a step closer to me, hand extended to give me something to hold onto. “He deserves a medal for finding you in this—”

And then all at once the fates conspire to align with a bitter and selfish five-hundred-year-old witch, and there’s not much that can be done other than accept that the universe has a plan that doesn’t take special requests.

A crack of lightning splits the sky and the boom of thunder cuts off his words. As the sound deafens us, the sea reaches out and takes Rook from me just as it took my other offerings. The wave hits me as well, but not as hard, and I only sink onto the rocks rather than crash into the water.

“Curses and scars be damned!” A second after Rook gets swallowed by the ocean, I plunge in after him.

In case you were wondering, drowning isn’t a pleasant experience. Drowning in the churning unforgiving Pacific Ocean during a storm at night is surreal to say the least. It’s also a nightmare with endless depths and boogeymen hiding in every direction.

There’s no up or down or sideways. There’s cold and lonely and desperate. Did I fight to live? I honestly don’t remember. What I do remember is violence, pain, and then being pinned so I couldn’t move.

Then there is more violence as I’m being forced to return to a life that I’m not sure I want. What kind of life would it be knowing that love will never be something I can hold in my arms, or give without lies and conditions and secrets?

“Aspen? You’re not allowed to leave me,” he’s saying in my ear. “This place is where our story starts, not where it ends. You’re the reason I get up in the morning. I thought I was studying the universe to find out why I exist, but now I know I only exist on this earth because of you.”

Rook’s voice is the sound of heaven. I want to listen to it for eternity. I don’t want to rise from my stupor for the deep and primal urge that I might hear him speak again if I stay still.

“Aspen, tell me you’re alright.”

He sounds sad and I almost consider answering him, but part of me feels far away and not willing to face my deplorable life. I feel a hand stroking my brow and then fingers brushing down my cheek. I’m also vaguely aware of something nuzzling my hand and whimpering softly.
Basil is worried about me, too.

“If you don’t want to tell me what you’re doing out here on this ridiculously awful night, that’s fine, darling, but don’t leave me. You can have your secrets and I will still love you. I will always love you.”