Part 21
Pacing is all Miranda can think of right now. She's told Andrea, well, not everything, but more than she's told anyone in almost two centuries. She can't imagine what's going through Andrea's mind. Anything from 'let me get away from this insane bitch right this second' to 'let's call an ambulance', or better yet, 'let's call the police.'
"What are you thinking?" Miranda swivels, placing her hands on her hips as she has no idea where to put them. "Don't just sit there. Say something."
"Hey, give a girl a break," Andrea frowns and stands up. "You just dropped a motherload of, let's just say, unusual information and I need a moment to process. Or a drink. Preferably both." Andrea takes her gin and tonic and empties it in two gulps. Coughing, she walks over to Miranda and takes her firmly by the shoulders. "You have to stop pacing. You're driving me nuts. I can't think."
"Very well. Let's sit down."
"No." Running her hands up and down Miranda's upper arms, Andrea seems to look straight through her. "I…I can't sit down either. Perhaps pacing is a good idea." She doesn't move, though, but pulls Miranda close. "If this is confusing as all hell to me, how strange mustn't it feel to you, to be forced to share something like this? I'm so sorry you were forced to. That I nagged you."
"You deserve to know." Miranda can barely enunciate the words as raw emotions overwhelm her. How is it that this woman thinks of her more than herself? "You are involved and my main priority now is to get you back to New York, or anywhere in the States, safely."
"Now, this is where we're going to have words." Andrea pushes her fingers into Miranda's hair and gently tugs her head back a little. "We are going to see this through—together. You've told me as much as you can for now, I'm sure, but there's tons more, I bet. I mean, why, for instance, someone's after you and Rosalee? And why now? I realize I'm just accidentally involved, but who says that whoever is after you won't think I know too much and keep chasing me once you've managed to ditch me in New York?"
Miranda grows cold. She has operated under the assumption that if she can get Andrea away from her, distance herself, then Andrea will be fine and Miranda can deal with what's going on or disappear—again. "Goddamn it," she groans. "You're right. Of course, you are."
"On occasion, yes." Andrea smiles sorrowfully. "But look at it this way. Two minds instead of one. We're smart people, both of us. We'll figure it out."
Miranda isn't so sure. She feels maneuvered by the faceless person or persons behind the chase through the London streets. This makes her angry, but the fact that she's wrapped up in Andrea's embrace makes it impossible to start pacing again. For some reason, pushing Andrea away is impossible. They're standing so close together, chest to chest, and Miranda buries her face in the long, chestnut hair.
"We need to rest. Once we've done that, we have to plan." Andrea seems oddly comfortable with taking the initiative.
Miranda holds her breath for a moment before she dares to ask the question that burns beneath her skin. "Do you believe me at all?"
Andrea shifts her hands and cups Miranda's cheeks. "I have two choices. Either I believe you, or I believe that you believe this to be true. Then there's the fact that we were chased. Also, your childhood friend, no matter when she actually was your childhood friend, exactly, is really beside the point. She's being stalked as well. That part, the stalking, is what's important now."
"In a way you're right, but in looking at it from another perspective, you're only half right." Miranda takes Andrea by the hand and returns to the couch. "Let me show you something a few pages into my ledger."
"Miranda…you're exhausted." Andrea tries to resist. If it's truly because she's mindful of them being tired, or if she's had enough of the ledger, is anyone's guess.
"I am." Miranda rubs her neck after they sit down. "And it won't take long, all right? Just humor me for a few minutes more."
"All right."
Miranda takes her bag and pulls out the photo that fell out…goodness, was it yesterday? She places it next to the ledger and opens the large book on a page further into it. She pushes it closer to Andrea. "Here's a picture of me from 1851. It's faded, of course, but it's the original." She looks down at the familiar photo of herself at the photographer's studio in Boston. "It was my ninetieth birthday. I told everyone it was my twenty-fifth, and they still thought of me as a hopeless spinster. The women my age that I knew were married, most of them."
Andrea bends over the ledger, squinting at the photo. "God."
"Pretty sure God has nothing to do with any aspect of my life. Our neighbor's in Maine were all the more certain that the eternal mine and Rosalee's eternal youth, was a work of the devil." Miranda turns a page. "This is from the boarding house I owned in Baltimore. My staff and I. 1869. I left the staff the boarding house when I 'died'. They were kind to me."
"Oh." Andrea sniffles. "Is there more?"
"There is." Miranda shoots Andrea a worried glance and sees how she wipes at silent tears. Another page shows Miranda sitting between two other women. "1883. I let myself inherit enough money under a new name, Virginia Knox, and moved to London. Here I started a fashion house. It became quite popular. I let the other two women be the face of the business."
"Did…did they inherit the business as well? Later?"
"Yes. Or in one case, her daughter did." Miranda closes the ledger. "So, either you think I'm a completely delusional woman who carries around a make-believe ledger of old photos to fool herself…or you are willing to give me the benefit of the doubt." Her head pounds and she rubs her temples.
"I was already giving you the benefit of the doubt." Andrea stands abruptly and extends her hand. "And we're not going to talk about this anymore tonight. I can tell you're fading, and to be honest, so am I. I want a hot shower and to go to bed."
"Are you willing to share my bed, Andrea?" Miranda slowly takes the proffered. "This is a one-bedroom apartment with a king-size bed. Will you share it with me?"
"Yes." Andrea colors faintly but pulls Miranda to her feet.
Miranda makes the bed while Andrea showers. Bringing sleepwear with her, she then checks the door and the alarm system. Finding the bathroom empty, Miranda steps in under the hot spray of water, letting it hammer on her aching shoulders. Her ankles hurt as well. Running on cobble streets is insanity. After drying her hair, she finds Andrea sitting on the foot of the bed, dressed in a t-shirt and panties.
"I assumed it was all right to borrow some clothes." Andrea tugs at the t-shirt. "This was the largest one I could find."
"Of course." Miranda is wearing a long sleep shirt. "Let's go to bed."
They crawl into bed and Miranda turns off the light. A faint nightlight in the hallway keeps it from going pitch black.
"Are you afraid, Miranda?" Andrea asks in a whisper.
"Only for your sake." Miranda turns on her side, facing Andrea. "Are you?"
"Yes, but not because of anyone catching up with us. Not yet anyway."
Miranda places a hand on Andrea's shoulder. "Then why?" She doesn't understand.
"I'm afraid of waking up and finding you gone. That you'll decide that you need to protect me by disappearing after all. That I'll…lose you."
Miranda stops breathing for a moment. "I can promise you that I won't leave you voluntarily. I will certainly not sneak out in the night in some misguided attempt at keeping you safe. You're right about what you said—we need to figure this out together."
"Okay. Good. But what then? Once we have figured things out?"
A cold fist squeezes Miranda's heart until it can't refill with the blood. Ironically, not even this sensation will come close to ending her life. There is still so much Andrea doesn't know, or don't understand, and one of those things are—there is no future for them. There never can be with a woman like Miranda.
xxxxx
Continued in part 22