Chapter 35
Water. He'd specified water, Jake told her. He didn't speak much, but during the quiet times, when her loneliness threatened to overwhelm her and the ache in her heart from missing HIM was almost too much to bear.he'd talk to her. A note of sympathy in his voice and perhaps understanding in his amber eyes. He'd straddle the uncomfortably straight chair in the corner and gaze outside the window to the rolling waves crashing to the pale sandy beaches, and his voice was a quiet murmur lulling her to a state of temporary peace as he related cherished boyhood memories, talked of the ordinary and gave her a grasp on what normal was again-if only for a short moment in time. Sometimes, he'd even answer her questions. In as vague of terms as possible. That's how she found out his motivation for bringing her here, to this place with all its beauty and all its history. Her false paradise. Her brother had told him she had a love of water that run deep in her veins. A love that made her free. Ironic that Julian'd wished her freedom while essentially keeping her prisoner. Her brother had told him, and here she was.
"Does your family miss you?" she whispered into the stillness of the silver moonlight, her hand caressing her rounded belly, her breath catching in the back of her throat as the child within her stirred. His profile was etched in the shadows, and she could barely see the whites of his eyes as he studied her. "I don't know," he answered truthfully, and she felt a kinship with him. Felt a tiny smile of recognition flicker across her lips. That smile faded with the remembrance, the return of the loneliness that was never far. "My father doesn't miss me at all," she said into the night, only the faintest traces of bitterness lingering on her tongue. "He probably gave a party in honor of my 'death'." Jake was quiet except for the faint sounds of his breath entering and leaving his body, and she continued, taking comfort in the sound of her own voice. Taking comfort in the knowledge that now.after all that had happened, after all that would happen, she didn't have to struggle with that uncertainty. "My nephew," she laughed softly. "I think he misses me. And my friend Gwen. I bet she could really use a sounding board right about now. Ethan can be such an oaf sometimes. Today's her birthday," her voice came out in a sigh, and she shifted restlessly beneath the thin white linens, searching for that elusive position that would grant her rest.
She lay on her side, studying the cracks up and down the wall she'd become so familiar with over the months. Thirty-one. One evening she'd just counted them. Thirty one cracks on one wall alone. This relic of an inn, it seemed, was crumbling down around them. Crumbling into dust that floated in the wind, drifted down from the heavy sea air, and swirled in the lapping waves that were pulled back into the ocean's depths with each changing of the tides. A warm breeze ruffled her hair, making it tickle her forehead, and she twisted a piece of it around her finger. Marveling at its sun-kissed color. Its length. "Ivy wouldn't recognize me," her voice had just the slightest bit of amusement in it, enough to make him smile, quite reluctantly and quite unexpectedly in the darkness. "I haven't worn long hair since.since.since, well a long time ago. I was very young then."
He made a noise, just the slightest noise, and she searched out the shadows for his dark form again. "What?" she couldn't keep the irritation that was so quick to arise in her dealings with him out of her tone. "Then?" he scoffed, uncurling his stiff limbs from the unyielding chair and standing. The moonlight painted his face in silver strokes, and she was struck with a fleeting sense of familiarity. "You're just a child now." "A child carrying a child," she told him, pushing her torso up with her elbows. "You can't be more than seventeen." "Eighteen!" she shouted back indignantly. It didn't bother her as much.being mistaken for older than she really was. But a child? She hadn't lived much of a childhood, and adulthood was looming, had probably already arrived, with the conception of the child in her womb. What made him think of her as a child? She couldn't understand it.
He drifted across the small room. Effortless. And she bit back a gasp of surprise when she found him kneeling next to her. Looking at her rounded belly with some strange emotion she couldn't define if she tried in his amber eyes as he reached a tentative hand forward. She jerked slightly under his gentle touch on her abdomen, her hand darting out to catch his when he tried to pull it away. "No. No. It's okay," she spoke softly. Calmly. Pressing the heel of his hand to her belly again when she felt a tell-tale quickening. "The father.he know?" "How could he?" she recoiled from his touch, drawing her knees as far up as she could and scooting back against the headboard. "He thinks I'm dead. He has no idea.I didn't even get to tell him," she whispered thickly, wiping carelessly at the tears that tracked against her cheeks. "I had that moment taken away from me.from him. Please," she pleaded. "I have to leave this place. I have to go to him. It's not right. He deserves to know," she cried, clutching his wrinkled white shirt in her fists and sobbing against the shoulder he pulled her into. "I'm so scared. Without him.I don't know if I can do this. I want to go home. I want."
His fingers tangled in her hair, stroking it back from her neck with surprising tenderness. "Please," she raised reddened, teary blue eyes to his face. "I want to go home," she implored him, her sobs gradually becoming hiccups as he eased her back against the mattress and pulled the cool cotton sheets over her shoulders. "I want to go home," she whispered brokenly as he pushed the door closed behind himself, finding kind brown eyes staring at him. "She wants to go home," he said in simple explanation, and the woman with the kind brown eyes wrapped her fingers around his forearm, squeezing it in gentle reassurance. "Maybe you can help her. I couldn't tell her the truth, and.she's hysterical again. The doctor said it isn't good for the baby." "You go," she told him with a smile. "I'll stay. Just until she sleeps," she promised, her hand reaching for the door and twisting the knob easily. He watched her cross the room and take his charge into her arms as if she WERE no more than a child, cradling her close, and humming soothing melodies as they rocked. He watched them, some instinctive force drawing them close. He watched them. And felt a rightness.
Water. He'd specified water, Jake told her. He didn't speak much, but during the quiet times, when her loneliness threatened to overwhelm her and the ache in her heart from missing HIM was almost too much to bear.he'd talk to her. A note of sympathy in his voice and perhaps understanding in his amber eyes. He'd straddle the uncomfortably straight chair in the corner and gaze outside the window to the rolling waves crashing to the pale sandy beaches, and his voice was a quiet murmur lulling her to a state of temporary peace as he related cherished boyhood memories, talked of the ordinary and gave her a grasp on what normal was again-if only for a short moment in time. Sometimes, he'd even answer her questions. In as vague of terms as possible. That's how she found out his motivation for bringing her here, to this place with all its beauty and all its history. Her false paradise. Her brother had told him she had a love of water that run deep in her veins. A love that made her free. Ironic that Julian'd wished her freedom while essentially keeping her prisoner. Her brother had told him, and here she was.
"Does your family miss you?" she whispered into the stillness of the silver moonlight, her hand caressing her rounded belly, her breath catching in the back of her throat as the child within her stirred. His profile was etched in the shadows, and she could barely see the whites of his eyes as he studied her. "I don't know," he answered truthfully, and she felt a kinship with him. Felt a tiny smile of recognition flicker across her lips. That smile faded with the remembrance, the return of the loneliness that was never far. "My father doesn't miss me at all," she said into the night, only the faintest traces of bitterness lingering on her tongue. "He probably gave a party in honor of my 'death'." Jake was quiet except for the faint sounds of his breath entering and leaving his body, and she continued, taking comfort in the sound of her own voice. Taking comfort in the knowledge that now.after all that had happened, after all that would happen, she didn't have to struggle with that uncertainty. "My nephew," she laughed softly. "I think he misses me. And my friend Gwen. I bet she could really use a sounding board right about now. Ethan can be such an oaf sometimes. Today's her birthday," her voice came out in a sigh, and she shifted restlessly beneath the thin white linens, searching for that elusive position that would grant her rest.
She lay on her side, studying the cracks up and down the wall she'd become so familiar with over the months. Thirty-one. One evening she'd just counted them. Thirty one cracks on one wall alone. This relic of an inn, it seemed, was crumbling down around them. Crumbling into dust that floated in the wind, drifted down from the heavy sea air, and swirled in the lapping waves that were pulled back into the ocean's depths with each changing of the tides. A warm breeze ruffled her hair, making it tickle her forehead, and she twisted a piece of it around her finger. Marveling at its sun-kissed color. Its length. "Ivy wouldn't recognize me," her voice had just the slightest bit of amusement in it, enough to make him smile, quite reluctantly and quite unexpectedly in the darkness. "I haven't worn long hair since.since.since, well a long time ago. I was very young then."
He made a noise, just the slightest noise, and she searched out the shadows for his dark form again. "What?" she couldn't keep the irritation that was so quick to arise in her dealings with him out of her tone. "Then?" he scoffed, uncurling his stiff limbs from the unyielding chair and standing. The moonlight painted his face in silver strokes, and she was struck with a fleeting sense of familiarity. "You're just a child now." "A child carrying a child," she told him, pushing her torso up with her elbows. "You can't be more than seventeen." "Eighteen!" she shouted back indignantly. It didn't bother her as much.being mistaken for older than she really was. But a child? She hadn't lived much of a childhood, and adulthood was looming, had probably already arrived, with the conception of the child in her womb. What made him think of her as a child? She couldn't understand it.
He drifted across the small room. Effortless. And she bit back a gasp of surprise when she found him kneeling next to her. Looking at her rounded belly with some strange emotion she couldn't define if she tried in his amber eyes as he reached a tentative hand forward. She jerked slightly under his gentle touch on her abdomen, her hand darting out to catch his when he tried to pull it away. "No. No. It's okay," she spoke softly. Calmly. Pressing the heel of his hand to her belly again when she felt a tell-tale quickening. "The father.he know?" "How could he?" she recoiled from his touch, drawing her knees as far up as she could and scooting back against the headboard. "He thinks I'm dead. He has no idea.I didn't even get to tell him," she whispered thickly, wiping carelessly at the tears that tracked against her cheeks. "I had that moment taken away from me.from him. Please," she pleaded. "I have to leave this place. I have to go to him. It's not right. He deserves to know," she cried, clutching his wrinkled white shirt in her fists and sobbing against the shoulder he pulled her into. "I'm so scared. Without him.I don't know if I can do this. I want to go home. I want."
His fingers tangled in her hair, stroking it back from her neck with surprising tenderness. "Please," she raised reddened, teary blue eyes to his face. "I want to go home," she implored him, her sobs gradually becoming hiccups as he eased her back against the mattress and pulled the cool cotton sheets over her shoulders. "I want to go home," she whispered brokenly as he pushed the door closed behind himself, finding kind brown eyes staring at him. "She wants to go home," he said in simple explanation, and the woman with the kind brown eyes wrapped her fingers around his forearm, squeezing it in gentle reassurance. "Maybe you can help her. I couldn't tell her the truth, and.she's hysterical again. The doctor said it isn't good for the baby." "You go," she told him with a smile. "I'll stay. Just until she sleeps," she promised, her hand reaching for the door and twisting the knob easily. He watched her cross the room and take his charge into her arms as if she WERE no more than a child, cradling her close, and humming soothing melodies as they rocked. He watched them, some instinctive force drawing them close. He watched them. And felt a rightness.