Writer's Note: Happy New Year! Here's a new chapter. :)
Chapter Sixteen
Henry sat at one of the tables next to the broad, glass front of Coffee, Cake and Cookies. The rows of miniature cacti dotted the wooden ledge beside him and soaked up the rays of sunlight that shone through the window. He'd arrived at around eight fifty, ten minutes early, wanting to be there before Elizabeth showed up—if she showed up—had bought himself a black coffee and had taken a seat near the front, facing the door, so he'd be able to see her approach. He'd thought about ordering her a coffee and an apple and cinnamon muffin too, but maybe that would have been tempting fate, and besides, he'd spent nearly all the money he'd earnt through tutoring her the previous semester to buy the necklace for her birthday and he couldn't afford even a few dollars to go to waste.
Music drifted in the background, indistinct and inoffensive; it weaved through the chatter that swelled in the air above the other tables.
Henry took tiny sips of his coffee; at first because it was scaldingly hot and he was afraid it might burn his tongue and the front of his palate, and then in an attempt to make the cup last as long as possible while the seconds and minutes ticked by—it felt like the volume in the cup was directly proportional to the chance of Elizabeth turning up, and he wasn't yet ready to accept that the chance was zero. While he sipped, he stared through the glass next to the door, keeping watch for Elizabeth's arrival from the stretch of sidewalk to the left, and the Ink puppy sat on the skin over his neck, keeping watch for Elizabeth's arrival from the stretch of sidewalk to the right.
The minutes dragged on. People came and went, the bell above the door ringing over the grinding whir of the coffee machine each time. The Ink puppy's tingle of anticipation that he was hoping for never appeared; instead, the Ink let out a series of low whimpers.
Maybe Elizabeth hadn't been on the other side of the door after all; maybe she hadn't received the card he'd left in the hall; maybe she'd missed the note saying he'd be at the coffee shop today.
Every possible excuse flitted through his mind. He tried his best to cling to them, to stop his hope from dying, but it was like attempting to snatch tendrils of smoke from the air.
Behind the counter, the minute hand on the clock juddered another step forward.
Ten a.m.
The last dregs of coffee had long since turned cold. Henry swigged them down anyway, eliciting a grimace and a shudder, perhaps a kind of self-inflicted punishment for allowing himself to think that she might show. The Ink puppy's whines increased in frequency and desperation, as if it were begging him to wait just a little longer, just one minute more, but he pushed back his chair, the feet screeching across the floor, grabbed his jacket from the back and pulled it on.
His duties as a TA that semester meant that he had a ton of marking to get through, so he ought to head to the library, but he doubted he'd be able to concentrate, not when over ninety per cent of his thoughts—waking or otherwise—were dedicated to Elizabeth.
oOoOo
The waters of the lake lapped against the shore, and the sunlight shattered and reformed, shattered and reformed with the ruffling wavelets. Henry picked his way along the rocky path, between the large grey boulders that lined either side. He'd already broken free from the shade of the trees, and the rays of sun warmed his skin and caused it to prickle with the first beads of sweat. Birds twittered and chirped as they flitted this way and that, and everything smelt vibrant and green and fresh.
He couldn't help but think back to the last time he'd navigated that path, and how Elizabeth had laughed with such mirth when he'd fallen. The lake used to be where he came to ground himself and clear his head, but apparently Elizabeth had taken over that too. With the way his soul was linked to hers, forgetting her would never be an option. Maybe he just needed to give her more time, like his mother had said. But what if he backed off and their lives diverged? After he finished graduate school he would be serving in the Marines, and by the time he returned she would have completed her degree and be God-knows-where with the CIA. They were soulmates, so of course their paths would cross again at some point—assuming nothing happened to either of them: she might fear what would become of him during his time in active duty, but being a spy wasn't exactly the most risk-free job either—but that could be decades down the line, by which time they would have missed so many opportunities—the chance to have a family, for one—or Elizabeth could have taken a risk on loving someone else. Rationally he knew that love wasn't 'now or never' and the bond between them would always be present, but it felt like the life he wanted with her was slipping away and becoming ever more distant by the second.
He followed the path around the corner, where it curved onto the shore opposite the parking lot. As he neared the shelf of grey rock that jutted out from the shoreline, the Ink puppy trotted up his neck and over his jaw and cheek to his brow, where it then sat down and barked. A moment later, he saw why: Sitting at the edge of that shelf, with her legs dangling over the water, was a girl with long honey blonde hair, wearing a bright blue windbreaker, who looked exactly like Elizabeth.
He stopped and stared at her.
A heavy frown crept onto his brow.
It couldn't be her. His mind must have been playing tricks on him—fooling his Ink, too.
But no matter how long he stared, the apparition before him didn't fade, and when she swiped at her cheek with the knuckle of her forefinger, as though brushing away a stray tear, he could have sworn he saw an Ink kitten scampering across the back of her hand.
"Elizabeth?"
oOoOo
Elizabeth sat at the edge of the stone shelf, water sloshing against the wall beneath her feet and spraying her lower legs. It was warm in the sunlight, despite the breeze that rolled off the lake, and the Ink kitten basked on her left cheek, its eyes closed, its forelegs folded and tucked to its chest; there was no one else around to see it, so she let it stay there rather than hauling it into hiding.
The necklace that Henry had given her was nestled in the centre of her palm, the 'E' side of the pendant facing up. She stared at it while sailboats—blurs of bright red, orange and white—drifted by in the periphery of her vision. She didn't know what had become of the original necklace; Aunt Joan had been in charge of collecting her and Will's possessions before the horse farm was sold, and something so sentimental or that alluded to her Ink was unlikely to be a top priority in Aunt Joan's opinion. Elizabeth hadn't even thought about it at the time; it was just another thing hidden beneath the surface of her mind, lying dormant, like the grief over the loss of her parents.
Maybe this necklace was the same one, returned to her through time. But that seemed like far too much of a coincidence. Either way, it felt like a sign. The question was: What was that sign trying to tell her? Could it be that everything Henry had told her about his plans for their future would come true, that if she took that leap of faith she would find the same happiness and love that she'd known when she last received the necklace? Or could it be that she was destined to lose him too, and the necklace was a reminder of what she'd already lost and why she'd be foolish to risk falling apart again? Or maybe, just maybe, could it be that it meant nothing at all and she was looking for someone, something, to tell her what to do?
She folded her fingers over the necklace and closed her eyes.
Gulls screeched as they wheeled overhead, the waves lapped against the rock, and the smell of disturbed earth, a hint of sulphur and wet stone suffused every breath.
'There's ice cream in the cooler, Bub.' Her father nodded towards the large beige and brown cool box that stood at the edge of the tartan blanket, on the side furthest from the lake.
Elizabeth glared at him where he sat across from her, his legs stretched out before him, one arm wrapped loosely around her mother, holding her against his side. 'When are you going to quit calling me that?' It wasn't her fault she couldn't pronounce her own name as a child.
'As soon as you stop being our little girl.' He gave her a bright and infuriating smile.
She rolled her eyes. 'I'm fifteen.' The 'fifteen' had extra emphasis: fif-teen. Practically an adult.
'You're still our baby,' her mother said, and then shared a gooey-eyed look with her father.
From somewhere in the vicinity, Will retched.
'So embarrassing…' Elizabeth muttered as she crawled towards the cool box, the shelf of rock beneath the blanket hard against the heels of her palms and her knees.
She pulled off the chunky plastic lid, having to wiggle it free as it clung to the base, and then set it aside on the stone. Inside were a couple of luminous blue freezer blocks and a pale pink carton of strawberry ice cream. She reached for the carton, but then spotted the small box, wrapped in bright yellow paper with pictures of Garfield, tucked at one corner. (Someone had placed it in a plastic bag, presumably to protect it from the condensation in the cooler.)
She lifted out the box with a frown. 'What's this?'
'Well—' Her father elongated the word. '—it looks to me like a present.'
Her gaze flicked to her parents. 'For me?' she asked tentatively.
A teasing glint lit her mother's eyes. 'Well, you are fif-teen, after all.'
Elizabeth turned her back on the cooler and sat cross-legged. She pulled off the plastic bag and dumped it next to her on the blanket, and then ripped away the wrapping paper to reveal black velvet beneath. In the edge of her vision, a sailboat drifted past on the lake, while gulls squawked and gyred above. She eased open the lid of the box—it strained against the hinges on one side that fought to snap it shut—and found a gold necklace nestled on a cushion of cream satin. One side of the round pendant bore the letter 'E', and when she gripped it and turned it over, the gold chilly from the cool box, she saw that the other side bore an engraved paw print.
'Do you like it?' her mother asked as Elizabeth continued to stare at the pendant.
Elizabeth looked up and then grinned. 'I love it.' She ditched the box on the blanket, and then scrambled over to her parents and enveloped them both in a hug.
They paused for a second, as if surprised by her sudden show of affection, and then hugged her in return, squeezing her tight, just like the group hugs they'd shared when she was younger.
The moment was broken when Will returned from whatever-the-hell he'd been doing.
'Here. I got you something, too.'
He grabbed Elizabeth's hand, turned it over and dumped a fat, pink and very-much-still-alive earthworm in her palm. The earthworm wriggled and writhed.
Elizabeth squealed. 'Will! Stop it! That's gross!'
Their father frowned up at Will. 'Come on now. Leave your sister alone.'
At the thought of the earthworm, the memory morphed, and she was no longer sitting on the shelf of rock at the edge of the lake, but instead stood in the long grass of the cemetery, staring at the two muddy pits that had swallowed the caskets containing her parents. The slimy pink bodies of earthworms wriggled in the walls and around the edges of the pits.
'Do you think they'll get in?' Will's voice was hoarse from disuse. He stared at the worms, too.
Elizabeth thought for a moment.
'No,' she lied.
After Chris died, Elizabeth had been plagued with dreams about worms invading her mother's body, her father's body, Chris's body. She wanted to believe that they were all still out there, that she might not be able to see them, but they were somewhere in the world, her parents laughing together and sharing those lovey-dovey kisses that made Will retch and her cringe, Chris lighting a Chesterfield cigarette and exhaling a curl of smoke through smirking lips while her eyes burned with darkness and life. But the images of their worm-infested bodies wouldn't let her. They invaded her mind. She carried them with her when she ransacked Aunt Joan's bathroom cabinet that day.
The suffocating emptiness she'd felt back then reached through time and engulfed her once again. Her whole body ached, like it were crushed beneath the weight of three graves.
Why did Henry have to come into her life and stir up those feelings again? Why couldn't she put it all behind her and move on—not be afraid to lose him?
A tear rolled down her cheek, hot and unbidden. And then another. And another. With the knuckle of her forefinger, she swiped them away, grateful that no one was there to see them, just like she was grateful that no one was there to see her Ink, now scampering on the back of her hand.
Or at least she'd thought no one was there…
"Elizabeth?"
oOoOo
"Elizabeth?" Henry said.
Elizabeth jumped. She turned her chin to her shoulder, revealing watery-rimmed eyes and tear tracks that stained her cheeks. Then she turned away again and swiped furiously at her cheeks with one hand while the other stuffed something into the pocket of her windbreaker. "You followed me?"
He frowned. "What? Of course not." He stood at the edge of the stone shelf, where the grey slabs spilled against the path, and he watched Elizabeth scramble to her feet. Why was she crying? Was she okay? How could he help her? On his brow, the Ink puppy whined. "I waited for you at the coffee shop and when you didn't show up, I thought I'd come here."
"Looking for me?" Her tone was accusatory.
"No," he said, a touch warily. "I wanted to clear my head. I didn't know you'd be here."
"So, I'm supposed to believe it's all just a coincidence?" Her hands found her hips, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the Ink kitten that gambolled across her forehead.
"We're soulmates. It does happen."
"Will you stop saying that?" She raked one hand through her hair, her fingers lodging in the roots, and she pivoted away from him, so that she was facing the track he'd just hiked along.
"What? That we're soulmates?"
She shot him a dark look.
"But we are." His bewilderment crept into his tone.
She looked at him like she could just about kill him.
His brow furrowed. "Why are you so angry with me?"
"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Her voice strained to the point it almost broke.
"Because you're important to me, because—"
"If you say we're soulmates one more time, I swear to God…"
"Because I care about you." He raised his voice over hers.
Her expression hardened. She stared him dead in the eye. It was like a thunderstorm brewing in fast motion. "I let you fuck me after a Christmas party. You need to get over it. Move on."
His jaw clenched and a heavy frown descended on his brow. He stared straight back at her, his look dark enough to make hers dwindle to no more than the shadow of a passing cloud, while images of the gentle kisses and loving touches they'd shared drifted like a veil across his mind. "That wasn't fucking."
She fought to hold his eye, but her gaze flickered beneath the intensity of his look and she squirmed, a writhing that simmered through her shoulders, fingers and feet, before eventually she blinked and looked away with a shake of the head. "I already told you: I don't want to be with you."
"You're afraid of being with me because you're afraid one day you might lose me. There's a difference. A big difference."
She scoffed, still not looking at him. "Took a psych class, did you?"
"And now you're just trying to hurt me and push me away so that you don't have to face the fact that you want to be with me and I want to be with you."
She muttered, "I don't want to be with you."
He eased towards her, step by step across the uneven slabs of rock. "You told me what grief did to you, how it made you feel, and I understand that you never want to go through that again, but life isn't about minimising losses. It's about enjoying what we have while we have it."
"Oh, so now you know the meaning of life, do you?"
"You know sarcasm really doesn't suit you."
She met him with a brief glare, like she knew she was being petulant but couldn't resist it.
"What do you want, Elizabeth? What do you really want?"
She huffed. "I already told you: I want you to leave me alone."
He continued stepping towards her, edging closer and closer as he spoke. "Then why did you tell me that you like me? Why did you show up on my birthday and at the Christmas party? Why did you kiss me? Why did you ask me to make love to you?"
A blush crested up her neck and through her cheeks. She stared past him and turned her head from side to side. "I…I let myself get caught up in the moment, I wasn't thinking clearly, I—"
He came to a stop in front of her, his toes nudging against her toes, her warmth radiating off of her and engulfing him. He watched her a moment while she rambled her excuses, and then he stroked back her hair, cupped her cheek and silenced her with his lips.
The kiss was gentle, so she could easily pull back or push him away if she wanted.
But she didn't.
Instead, she froze for a long second, stunned, and then kissed him back—more passionately than he'd anticipated. She gripped his neck, her fingers tugging at the hair that curled at his nape, and no sooner had his lips parted than she thrust her tongue into his mouth, overwhelming his senses with her taste and the smell of coffee and peppermint. His skin tingled as the two Inks chased each other, looping around his neck, down his spine, all the way to the sole of his foot and then back again. He massaged her waist through her windbreaker, and then slid his hands around to her lower back, pulling her flush against him. When he stroked the roof of her mouth with his tongue, she moaned, returning him to the night of the Christmas party, when he'd made love to her, the real her, the one who'd been willing to set aside her fears and be with him. She did want him, she just—
"I can't." She pulled back, her hand over his heart pushing him away. She grabbed hold of his wrist, her fingernails digging in, and she dragged the Ink kitten down his forearm, away from the Ink puppy, the tug through his skin only easing when the Ink kitten had crossed onto her palm again.
She let go of his wrist the second she'd reclaimed her Ink and barged past him. "I need to go."
"Elizabeth. Wait." He caught hold of her hand. The Ink puppy had been wiggling impatiently on his palm, letting out a series of low whines, and as soon as their skin touched, it hurled itself at Elizabeth again and again and again, but bounced back and tumbled over itself each time, while the Ink kitten strained against whatever hold she had on it.
She yanked her hand free and kept walking. "No. I need to go."
"Elizabeth. Please. Just—"
"No!"
He stood on the shelf of rock, watching as she strode away onto the path and then disappeared around the corner. Clouds passed over, blocking the warm rays of sunlight and leaving a chill in the breeze, and gulls squawked almost mockingly as they circled above. On the back of his hand, the Ink puppy howled, begging him to go after her—he swore he could feel the Ink kitten's yowl, too. But Elizabeth wouldn't stop, let alone listen to him. What he needed was someone else who could talk to her, someone who knew her and whose advice she respected, someone who might make her see sense.