Amber Frost (35 page)

And that was when I noticed him. He had been sitting so still, so silently that I hadn’t been aware that he was there until he moved. He had just been a dark shadow, a silent presence that my eyes slid over, that my mind didn’t register. I saw him now though, and I froze. I shouldn’t have felt so surprised to find him there, after all, he was the one I’d come looking for.

“Sebastian?” My voice sounded quiet and uncertain. His name came back to me through my memory’s foggy haze. I studied him curiously as I spoke, trying to remember what it had been like to date him. The beauty of his features was obvious, his large, dark eyes, his long black lashes, his perfectly shaped lips and smooth, angular jaw. He really was quite attractive. I wondered if I had ever kissed him? It seemed strange that I couldn’t remember – I probably hadn’t. I wondered what it would have felt like though? Would I have felt safe in his lean, muscular arms? Would I have felt happy and complete, resting my head against his firm, warm chest? Why couldn’t I remember?

I gave my head a little shake, trying to focus. It was then that I realized he hadn’t yet spoken, hadn’t answered me. He was staring at me with wide, wary eyes, a strange yet powerful emotion building within their dark, mysterious depths. He was frozen, as uncertain as I was and maybe even a little afraid.

“It’s me – Grace,” I prompted him, feeling a little confused. Was it hard for him to remember me too? Why was the time we had spent together so unclear, so forgettable? It suddenly bothered me that I couldn’t clearly remember him, though for some strange reason I’d never thought of it before.

I watched him visibly relax upon hearing me speak my name. The hope I had barely noticed in his eyes rapidly fading, his shoulders slumping slightly as if they bore a heavy weight.

“Hi, Grace,” he greeted me softly. His voice was pleasant, light and musical with a faint accent that I couldn’t place. My name didn’t sound right on his lips though, it was unfamiliar, arousing no new memories as I had hoped. “I’m sorry… I didn’t realize I wanted to say goodbye to you,” he apologized, smiling sadly as he spoke. I felt my brow furrow in confusion at his words. It felt unexpectedly familiar to be confused by this strange boy.

“Are you going somewhere?” I asked, trying to sort through my confusion. I strained to remember, struggled desperately to recall when we had spoken last and if his words should make sense to me now. “Graduation is only a few weeks away.”

“I know. I hadn’t planned on staying this long – I’m not sure why I did. I guess it’s harder for me to leave than I thought it would be.” I nodded as if I understood, as if his words meant something to me – I almost felt like they should. “Regardless, it’s past time for me to be gone. I’ll be leaving in a few days.”

“Where will you go?” I slowly moved closer to him as I spoke.

“I’ll be around,” he answered vaguely. He watched my movements warily, his body becoming even more tense as I approached him.

“Sebastian, I need to ask you something,” I told him slowly, my voice a soft and desperate plea. It was surprising how he reacted to the sound, my own pain and desperation reflected and magnified in his eyes. I struggled against my clouded thoughts, frantically trying to regain the sense of clarity, the clear sense of purpose that I’d had moments ago; it was rapidly fading. “I… I need to know…” I fumbled for words, straining to complete the thought. Sebastian appeared to be holding his breath, his beautiful, dark eyes wide with apprehension and uncertainty. “Were we… was I… happy, with you?” I waited nervously for his answer, afraid of his ridicule for my stupid, convoluted question. I immediately regretted speaking for his expression briefly twisted into one of unspeakable pain. His face smoothed over so quickly though, his eyes empty, his face now blank, that I immediately doubted what I’d seen. He barely hesitated before fixing me with a calm, level stare.

“No, you weren’t happy with me, not really,” he answered flatly. “You’re better off now; you’re happier.” I frowned, overwhelmed by disappointment as he spoke. I had been wrong; there were no answers here, there were no answers for me anywhere.

“Oh, I see… But… why can’t I remember dating you?” I asked quietly, afraid once more that he would laugh or be offended. Thankfully he took me seriously.

“Because there’s not a lot to remember,” he answered simply and without hesitation. “I’m sure you can remember parts – walks we took, working together at school, dinner with the Jensons.” As he spoke, flickers of memories came back to me, mundane, empty, meaningless memories but they were comforting nonetheless.

“Oh, that’s right, I remember,” I murmured, wrapped up in my thoughts once more. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Sebastian. I’ve been acting strangely lately… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quietly replied, his voice soft, his eyes tender. “Take care of yourself. Enjoy graduation; I’m sorry I’ll be missing it.”

“Yes, that’s too bad,” I agreed. I didn’t make a move to leave though, it felt like there was something more that needed to be said, like there was still some unfinished business between us. We stared at each other in silence – motionless, cautious, contemplating.

The bell rang and shattered the moment. With its clanging toll, I was thrown back into reality, back into the clouded haze in which I now lived. The need to be in the Art room, the certainty that I would find my answers, that I would rediscover my happiness there had faded and was now completely gone. I could barely remember why I was there, what I’d ever hoped to accomplish. I was overwhelmed by my disorientating confusion.

“You should go,” Sebastian suggested, quietly but firmly. I nodded my agreement. He was right, there was no reason for me to be there. I probably shouldn’t be seen speaking to someone like him, especially considering how we used to date. I wouldn’t want people to talk, and I especially wouldn’t want it to get back to Clarke – I knew how jealous he could be.

“I should,” I agreed. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” he answered softly.

It wasn’t until much later that day that I realized that would probably be the last time I would ever see Sebastian Caldwood. The thought bothered me when it finally occurred, like a sudden strike of lightning, blazing through my clouded thoughts. It was a strange sensation though – a delayed but strong reaction to the news. I was abruptly quite upset to realize my ex was leaving town, though I couldn’t understand or explain why it suddenly mattered. What reason was there for me to possibly care? Before that day we hadn’t spoken in months. We’d only dated briefly anyway and the few weeks we’d spent together had been so blasé they were barely even memorable. Still, I found myself nearly in tears as I slipped off into sleep that night.

Considering my mood when I finally fell asleep, it was no surprise that I dreamt of
him
again. My heartache, loneliness and confusion seeped into my dreams, coloring and clarifying the images to a vivid, realistic sharpness like I’d never experienced before. Details emerged from the dark shadows that I’d never before seen; a deep, emerald forest, a tall bonfire burning high, a clear and starry night, whispered words on a warm summer breeze, the sweet scent of lavender in the air. The scene played out as it always did though, his dark, shadowy shape reaching towards me, every ounce of him radiating his anguished desperation. And as I did, night after night after night, I firmly pressed my necklace into his outstretched hand, the amber pendant burning like fire between our palms. I watched numbly as my hand slowly slipped away, weakly falling from his grasp as I spiraled ever-deeper into the darkness, my mind already pulling away from the dream and straining towards consciousness. And that was when I heard it, that one whispered word in a sweet, feminine musical voice that though unfamiliar, I somehow recognized as my own.

“
Seamus
,” the voice – my voice – murmured. That one word was inundated with immeasurable love and yearning, and pain.
Seamus
. That was
his
name.

I sat bolt upright in bed, my heart pounding, my breath coming fast and hard, my body covered in a damp sweat. The weak morning light streamed in through my bedroom window. I glanced at my alarm clock – it was 6:00 am already, yet I felt like I’d barely had an hour of sleep. I rubbed my bleary eyes, trying desperately to clear my head and shake the vivid images from it. I tried to ignore the lingering, uncomfortable warmth in my palm, and the scent of fresh lavender in my nose. A name whispered like my last breath clung to my lips, was burned into my soul;
Seamus
. What did it all mean? What was
wrong
with me?

I glanced around the room in confusion, completely disoriented. It took me a second to remember where I was, to recall what I was doing there. It was Saturday – I’d chosen to spend the weekend at my mother’s house and I’d woken up in my old bedroom, a place that should have felt familiar to me but had never quite acquired that comforting sensation of being ‘at home’. My mother had been so lonely since my father had left her, I felt obligated to spend the weekends with her. I knew it wasn’t right for her to be left all alone in this large, empty house that just wouldn’t sell, with no one but creepy Walter for company. It was my daughterly duty to be here for her.

Though I’d awoken exhausted, I knew there was no hope in trying to achieve any more rest. I quickly rose from my bed, eager to separate myself further from the scene of my nighttime disturbia and strange, distorted dreams. I quickly showered and dressed, feeling better once I was clean and in fresh clothes, the sounds and sensations of my dreams slowly beginning to fade. One word clung to me though as it seemed to form a crucial piece of my being and my soul. It had been etched into my heart and mind more deeply than anything else;
Seamus
. I tried to push the name aside, to forget and ignore the frighteningly strong emotions it evoked within me. Just a dream, just a dream, I chanted over and over to myself as I made my way downstairs and into the dining room, struggling to keep my mind sharp and my thoughts present.

“Oh, Grace – you look absolutely frightful! Go back upstairs and put some cover-up on dear. Those bags under your eyes are hideously unattractive,” my mother chastised disapprovingly as I entered the room. I smothered an inner sigh.

“I’m already wearing makeup, mother,” I told her, deliberately keeping my tone light and passive. “It’s just the lighting in here.” My mother frowned back at me, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized my face, attempting to validate my words.

“Clarke will be here in under an hour. I think you’d better receive him outside; hopefully the natural lighting will improve your pallor,” my mother instructed firmly. “You’ve been looking quite washed-out lately, Grace. It’s long past time that you started tanning again. I’ll book you in at La Sola for this weekend.” I nodded, silent and complacent. Her expression was still sour as she examined my appearance while I sat down. Apparently my hair and clothing were acceptable to her though as she made no further comment. I was vaguely surprised that Clarke was on his way over so early but I didn’t object. I knew I should be pleased that my handsome boyfriend was choosing to dote on me today.

“Good morning, Grace,” Walter greeted me, his tone cold and unwelcoming, at odds with his polite words. I reluctantly turned his way – up until that point I’d been trying to ignore him.

He sat at the end of the dining room table where my father had once sat. Since my father had moved out, Walter had developed a close relationship with my mother and had become somewhat of her companion and confidante. Though I was fairly certain there was nothing romantic going on between them, it was obvious that they were close and that my mother depended upon Walter heavily. I tried my best to be polite, not wanting to offend or upset my mother, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to accept Walter’s new position in our household. He still gave me the creeps and the way he watched me sometimes, so suspiciously and almost hatefully… it almost scared me. I was sure I must be imagining it.

“Walter,” I greeted him levelly with a slight nod of my head. He smirked back at me as if he knew how difficult it was for me to manage even that small pleasantry.

With impeccable timing as always, Eliza entered to serve our breakfast. Though Walter maintained most of his previous duties managing our household and staff, the task of serving our meals had now fallen upon Eliza who luckily didn’t seem to mind. She bustled about the dining room, serving our meal with friendly smiles and quick bobs of her head. I wondered if it hurt her pride to now have to serve Walter; if it did, she didn’t let it show. She served our plates, filled our cups with steaming, hot coffee and our glasses with freshly squeezed orange juice, and then bustled back into the kitchen, all speed and dependable efficiency.

“Quite a capable woman,” my mother commented as the door closed behind Eliza. “Perhaps we should consider raising her wage.”

“Unfortunately, Diane, your estranged husband has tied up most of your assets in bonds for Grace, leaving our finances uncomfortably depleted,” Walter dryly replied. He glared at me accusingly as he spoke as if this were all my fault. I had to bite my tongue when he said “
our
finances”.

“Well, Grace will turn nineteen in a few more months and then, of course, she’ll sign those funds back over into my name as they rightfully belong. Right, Grace?” My mother fixed me with a cold, hard stare. I regretted her finding out about the funds my father had set up in my name; Walter had somehow discovered them though – he could be quite resourceful when he wanted to be.