Mystical Love (31 page)

“I never could fool you one bit, could I, Dora? You're absolutely right. I found the painting in the old wing attic.”

“Just so,” she commented, sailing out the door in front of him.

Stopping at the light switch, Lloyd cast a backward glance at the portrait. “Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy gets girl back. The very best of fairy tale endings, eh, Dora?”

Her fractured snort said it all.

“Bats in the belfry, that's what!”

Lloyd flicked the light switch, giving a wry smile. No, not bats, ghosts. Ghosts in the belfry.

SIX MONTHS LATER — MADSEN, OHIO

The rectory door clanged shut on its hinges and Jasper gave a small sigh of relief. The last of the congregation had finally dispersed and he had the rest of his Sunday all to himself. What to do first? Easy. He'd call the twins and finalize their travel plans to Aspen. Decide which of them would pick up and pay for the tickets.

For some inexplicable reason, Jasper felt an unexpected surge of excitement at the prospect of seeing Janice Kelly again. He didn't know why he should. It wasn't as if they hadn't talked. They had talked incessantly over the last six months, each swapping stories of their childrens' busy lives. He was lucky, he knew. Lucky to have her for a friend. Her frequent calls to the rectory had sustained him in his first, lonely months without Muriel.

Adrian had called at first, too, offered support, but over the last two months, the calls had dwindled and finally stopped. Had Adrian's world taken a further downward spiral? He thought so. Should he invade Adrian's time-line and check on his health? No, that would be an invasion, an intrusion of his soul. Better to offer up a prayer of encouragement instead.

Strolling up the aisle, he did so, and then selfishly he added a second prayer, one of matchmaking. Janice and Adrian belonged together, like he and Muriel — he'd stake his collar on it. There had to be a way to bring them together. He'd think on it. He'd pray on it. And in a moment of quiet thought, he'd slip his mind away and ask Muriel's opinion on it. Muree! Funny, how effortlessly his thoughts flew to her these days. And funny, how he had always thought death would part them forever. It hadn't. She was still here, sharing parts of his everyday life.

Jasper's eye caught the cross etched in the stained glass window above the altar mantle. For a moment, he studied the bank of rainbow prisms. She hadn't left him, not his Muree. She was always there, just around the corners of his mind. And she listened. And she believed in him. She always would.

Making a hasty sign of the cross and a half-genuflect, he started up the altar steps to the sacristy, disrobing as he went. Passing beneath the stained glass etching, he sent up a small hello to Muriel. A moment later, the air stirred above his head and Jasper smiled knowingly. That was his Muree. She never could let him have the last word on anything.

SIX MONTHS LATER — LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

“God damn it, Adrian, how can you live like this?”

The question was edged with apparent disgust and Adrian winced as the overhead light snapped on, interrupting his melancholy brooding. The glaring light filled the room and instantly set up his hackles. He wished Todd would go to hell. And if he didn't know how to get there, he'd damn well tell him how. Was it daybreak already?

Eyeballs smarting from lack of sleep, Adrian shaded his lids, but he knew the motion was more a reflex action to keep Todd from seeing the haggard, desolate light in his eyes. He heard approaching footsteps on the carpet and then caught sight of familiar patent and leather shoe tips. A second later, Todd's snarl rolled contemptuously over him.

“Jesus, Adrian! You look frigging anorexic!”

“And a gracious good morning to you, too.” Adrian cajoled sweetly. He thought his cool response disguised his simmering rage adequately.

“As if it were morning!” Todd snorted. The shoe tips disappeared from view and Adrian lifted his head, following Todd's path to the dining room table. Once there, his friend deposited an assortment of letters and a small package on the tabletop. “It's ten o'clock at night, if that means anything to you,” he stated, sarcastically.

Tucking himself deeper into the chair, Adrian ignored the barb and went back to his brooding. Or tried to. Todd's repeated oaths as he snatched up discarded clothing from the floor kept Adrian from fully concentrating on his melancholy. Soon, the shoe tips appeared in his line of vision again.

“Jesus, Adrian, why don't you just blow your brains out and be done with it?”

“Go away, Todd,” Adrian snarled, nastily.

When the shoe tips remained, Adrian lifted his head. A second later, he was glad that he had. If he hadn't, the circle of keys heading for his face might've done some major damage to his right eye. He dodged the attack, deflecting the keys away with a swat. They ricocheted off the back of the chair and dropped to the carpet with barely a sound.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Todd growled at him. “You'd like to be left alone to rot.” Adrian offered no comment, trying to keep a lid on his simmering temper. “How long since you ate anything?” The question was so unexpected and asked with such real concern, Adrian tried to answer it. He couldn't remember how long, so he hedged.

“A couple of days.”

“You want something now?”

“No.” The syllable was more swallowed than spoken.

“Jesus, Adrian, if you're this crazy in love with the woman, go tell her. If she's all the things Ginger says she is, she won't turn you away.”

“Screw Ginger!”

A chiding growl reverberated around his head and Adrian knew he was straining his friendship with Todd to the max.

“That's nice talk,” Todd replied. “Did you learn that from the baron?”

“Fuck you!”

“Ah, that's better. Now, will you call the woman and ask her to marry you or shall I?” Adrian made no comment, choosing to let a cold silence become his answer. “She lives in Aspen, right?”

Todd moved away, striding toward the desk phone. Adrian was out of his chair in a flash, barreling after his receding back. He'd tear the son of bitch's heart out. See if he didn't.

He wasn't quite fast enough though, or else Todd sensed his coming, but Adrian found himself plowing into Todd's chest and bouncing off it as he whirled about. Feet planted firmly, fists clenched, they stood glaring at one another, each silently daring the other. Suddenly, Todd's face split into a lopsided grin.

“My God, you fucker, you're scared! You're afraid she'll turn you down.” He snorted out a laugh and Adrian knew the snort was one of pure glee. He fought down an impulse to ram his fist through the nearest object.

“Of course, she'll turn me down,” he snapped. “She should. I broke her wrist, raped her!”

Todd's grin died instantly.

“Neither of you knows that for sure. You were both caught up in some damn fugue. Why are you putting yourself through this hell?”

Why? He couldn't do anything else, Adrian knew.

“You'll never understand, Todd,” he quipped, suddenly deflating. Just as suddenly, he realized how sick in mind and body he had become. He drifted to the window and opened the shades. A glittering array of marquee lights lit the night skyline. He stared at the crowd of passers-by walking the strip. Todd thought he felt guilty. He didn't. No, the pain stemmed from his inability to remember what making love to Janice had been like. He had had one shot at loving her and he didn't remember it and the knowledge gnawed at him like a cancer. He hoped he had been a giving lover, riding the currents of desire clear to the top, finally exploding in simultaneous fulfillment? He hoped her face had glowed in the aftermath of climax and she had whispered she loved him. He hoped …
that's an awful lot of hopes, Adrian, old buddy.

Adrian felt a light touch on his shoulder but didn't turn.

“I do understand, Adrian. And for what it's worth, I believe that making love was a mutual consent — for both of you. Forget your damn pride. Fly to Aspen and talk to Janice. Get down on your knees if you have to and beg her to marry you. Better yet, camp on her doorstep till she says yes.”

“It's not that easy, Todd. She's got a daughter.”

“For Christ's sake! You're a frigging magician! Kids are crazy about magicians. Everyone knows that.”

For the first time in months, Adrian found himself grinning. Todd was a sappy son of a bitch — a true closet romantic. Hiding his grin, Adrian turned from the window and gave Todd a brief nod.

“I'll think on it.”

“And that's all you'll ever do on it,” Todd replied in disgust. He spun on his heel and strode back to the table. Snatching up a banded stack of papers, he began to riffle through them one by one. “Jesus! How long since you answered mail or paid any bills?”

“Two … three months.”

Todd gave a soulful sigh.

“More like four or five. You better come take a look at these and tell me what needs paying. I'm assuming you're not ready to work again?”

“No!” Adrian's snarl was loud and emphatic.

“Okay, okay. Simmer down. I'll call Jilly and tell her to turn down the Stardust offer.”

Adrian grunted, whirling from the window and joining Todd at the table. Flipping through a second banded stack, his heart plummeted. There was an appalling number of e-mails. Was he that popular with audiences? Did they miss his performances that much?

Resigned to the fact that perhaps they did, Adrian sat down and glanced at the first e-mail. He read a few words and then pitched it. A second followed the first, then a third. Perusing the fourth, his scowl became fierce. Damn teeny boppers. Nothing but stage door groupies and star wannabes writing him. Were they the only ones enamored of him? Didn't anyone his own age enjoy his performances? He picked up another sheet, read a few lines, and pitched it.

“Well, I'll be fucked!”

Adrian glanced up, surprised by Todd's vehement curse. He found Todd staring at him, a curious light in his eyes.

“This one's from Aspen,” he announced. He raised a small envelope and Adrian saw him take a quick sniff of the edges. “Definitely feminine.”

Adrian's heart began a wild foot race with his stomach and he chided himself for reacting like a lovesick fool. Janice wouldn't write him. She hated him with a passion. No, there were loads of people living in Aspen who considered themselves his fans. This letter was from one of them.

“Guess we can toss this one,” Todd said briskly. He pitched the envelope into the garbage can alongside the table.

Adrian came out of his chair with a fevered curse.

“God dammit, Todd, what the fuck do you think you're doing?”

“Oh, did you want to read that one?” he remarked casually. Adrian bolted around the table and fished the envelope from the trash. “Sorry, thought any correspondence from Aspen was garbage.”

“You've shit for brains,” Adrian mumbled. He studied the handwriting and return address. What had prompted her to write to him after all these months? Hadn't everything been said that day on the pier? Was she having second thoughts about that day? Sending him an apology? No, he couldn't be that lucky. The stars would fall out of the sky before an apology would be issued from her lips. She hated him. He sank back in his chair, ignoring Todd's piercing stare. Slashing the envelope open, he read the colorful missive enclosed once, then reread it a second time.

“Sweet Jesus!”

Todd leaned in, closing the gap between them.

“What is it, Adrian?”

Adrian passed the card to Todd, not at all surprised to hear an astonished whistle leave his lips a second later. The card fluttered to the table in front of him and Adrian plucked at it absently. What did he do now? Beside him, Todd leaned back in his chair, blowing through his cheeks.

“Jesus, Adrian, I'm sorry.”

“Are you?”

Stunned by the question, Todd shot upright in the chair. He exchanged a quick glance with Adrian and then, all of a sudden, both began to laugh uproariously.

SIX MONTHS LATER — ASPEN, COLORADO

The sound of doorbells chiming filtered through Janice's consciousness and she stopped painting. Beyond the doorway, she heard the patter of tiny footsteps on the hall carpet. She lifted her head in expectation, her eyes glued to the doorway. As she thought, a flash of blue jeans streaked by at a reckless pace, heading for the staircase. Janice's mouth tilted upward as she listened to the tiny thumps on the carpeted steps. Sarah was off to answer the front door again, the little minx. She supposed she should stop her. Over the last several months, she had grown impossible about answering the door. When the chimes sounded, she responded. If she was upstairs, she ran down. If she was outside, she ran in.

Janice frowned suddenly. Should she be worried about her behavior? Her actions were amusing, and so far she had chalked the behavior up to just that. But now her habit seemed off-kilter. Was Sarah's preoccupation with answering the front door a delayed reaction to Jimmy's non-presence?

Looking back at the recent months in her mind's eye, it dawned on Janice that Sarah was answering the door as if she was expecting someone. Why hadn't she seen it before? Sarah was obviously sure someone was coming to visit. But whom? Janice tossed her paintbrush into the fresh jar of water beside her easel, grimacing at the resulting blue-green tint. Sarah couldn't be expecting her father. She had said as much.

“Are you still painting?”

Janice jumped, startled by the question. Her glance slid to the doorway once more. Seeing her sister's plump form, she hid a smile. Nine months pregnant and all stomach, she surmised. If Bibi didn't have the baby soon, they'd have to take to calling her the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Janice's smile snaked its way out.