Eternal (10 page)

And then I thought about one of my favorite
passages from the book and turned the pages to find it. “...Be with me
always--take any form--drive me mad! only DO not leave me in this abyss, where
I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I CANNOT live without my life! I
CANNOT live without my soul!” Emily Bronte,
Wuthering
Heights
,
Chapter Sixteen. It was highlighted,
too.

Beneath the row of timeless classics was a shelf
dedicated to my books. Cayden had every book I’d ever written, all eighteen in
alphabetical order, with what looked like a hand-sketched picture of my eyes that
was propped up against the back of the bookshelves. I placed
Wuthering
Heights
back in place. I picked up the sketch and read my name written at the bottom of
the paper in Cayden’s own personal handwriting.

I stood perfectly still, holding my breath before
my hands started to shake. There in my shaking hand was what I can only
describe as not only impossible, heart-wrenching, but also beautiful.

“Impossible,” I said aloud. I studied every
intricate detail of my own eyes sketched on the paper in my hand gazing back at
me.

Cayden had captured every detail of my eyes,
including the intricacy of my lashes. He must have used a dark-emerald colored
pencil to capture the color of my eyes then used another lighter shade of green
to highlight them with a sparkle somehow.
Facets of light.
I remembered how
Austin
said my eyes were the color of
emeralds cut with facets.

I found a dark black book that looked worn. It
was nothing like the pristine condition of Cayden’s other books on the shelves.
There was no cover to indicate it was a book to read, but I picked it up and
held it in my hands. I flipped through the pages. It was a diary of sorts. I
sat it back down, wondering if it was too personal
.
Maybe I should not read it.
I placed
the sketch Cayden had drawn back from where I took it then picked up the diary.
I took a seat by the window and read.

The first entry was written years ago. Cayden
must have been eight-years-old by the date on the top of the page. I would have
been twenty-three. This knowledge gave me pause for just a moment, for more
reason than one, but I read my name written over and over and over on the page
with intermittent doodles.

Winter Winter** Winter**WINTER §

≈≈≈winter W*I*N*T*E*R*
 
WINTER

Winter
◊◊◊

Then nothing more except for the periodic script
of my name until Cayden was fifteen. This entry was heartbreaking. Cayden
wrote....

The doctors are trying to tell me I am suffering
from something called post traumatic stress disorder and do not believe me when
I say I have lost someone named Winter. They tell me there has never been any
such person in my life and try to explain her away, saying I may be creating
someone in my mind in order to compensate for other more painful suppressed
memories. They want me to talk about my parents but I have no memory of them
other than what I have heard from my brother. It upsets Chance because I do not
mourn my parents, never morning them. It should probably upset me. Maybe there
is something really wrong with me? No one wants to understand, not the doctors,
not my Aunt and not even my brother.

He called his
brother Chance.
Shaking my head, I flipped a few
more pages ahead to see another entry when Cayden was sixteen:

I need to find Winter and I have no idea how to
find her. My need to see Winter plagues me. Is she a ghost which haunts my
dreams and my waking thoughts? Possibly. I wake up every night with her name on
my mind and I have no idea who she is but I know I will find her someday, I
have too. I miss her and I have to find what I have lost and never knowing how
I have lost her is something I do not understand.

I sat quietly, pondering these entries.
Amazing
. Truly unbelievable, yet
Cayden’s words were filled with a truth that was hard to escape. Everything I
have heard since leaving
Colorado
,
and everything I have seen, has been more than a dream, surreal. And reading
Cayden’s diary was astonishing to me.

 
Can love really conquer death?
I recalled being in the hospital thinking how
Austin
said he would
always stay with me, but he was gone. I wondered where he was, where he had
disappeared to, and knew he had left me. I brought to mind the burning; almost
tearing needed within my soul to find him. I remember thinking I must to hold
on to
Austin
. A
part of me clung to the belief death could not be the end.

 
Could
Austin
have loved me so much he fought to
stay with me? Could Cayden and Austin really be linked to each other on some
spiritual level?
I know I love them both unconditionally,
both equally as if the two of them are one. And so I asked myself in this
moment. If I had been the one who died sixteen years ago, would I have fought
to stay with
Austin
?
My answer is simple,
yes.
It is
unbelievable, but maybe I should take Jewel’s advice and stop questioning
things. Perhaps I should believe.

I skipped ahead in Cayden’s diary to the year
Cayden turned seventeen. He wrote about my book and how after reading it he had
finally found “my Winter” as he put it. This was exactly how
Austin
referred to me when introducing me to
people. He would say,
“This is my
Winter.”

There on the side of the page was another sketch
of my eyes along with three words….

I’m in love.

Unstoppable tears streamed down my face. I
closed the book and placed it back onto the shelf with shaking hands.

“I’m in love, too, Cayden,” I whispered.

I walked away from his diary and took a seat on
the foot of his massive bed. To say that I was stunned would be an
understatement. I sat there silent, almost motionless, staring off into space
or sometimes out the window.
 
I lost
track of time, but when I saw the paleness of the sky at twilight, I decided to
get up. Cayden could not see me in this condition. I located my luggage, propped
up in the hallway outside the bedroom door. I grabbed the two bags, dragging
them in. I unpacked quickly, and placed my clothes in Cayden’s oversized
walk-in closet.

Inside his closet were racks and racks of brand
new clothing, most of which had obviously never been worn. There was one long
rack of nothing but jeans along with another long rack of miscellaneous
T-shirts. My fingers moved the hangers. I saw vintage T-shirts: Pink Floyd, The
Doors, Van Morrison, The Cure, and an old shirt with Russian Vodka displayed
prominently with red, white, and black lettering. I traced my fingertips over
the Pink Floyd shirt. I remembered wearing a similar shirt of
Austin
’s.

I stood inside his closet for a long time before
hanging my clothing next to his jeans and T-shirts, and without warning, more
tears fell. I was unsure how I was going to settle myself down before Cayden
came home. I went over to a dresser drawer, opened it, and scooted some of his
socks and sweat pants over.
 
I placed my
things beside them. Next, I made my way into the bathroom. I set out my make-up
along with some other personal items onto the vanity. I saw some of Cayden’s
cologne, picked up the bottle, opened it, placed it to my nose, and inhaled.
Tears.
 
I touched his comb, ran my
fingers over his razor. More tears. I needed to calm myself down.

I sauntered back over to the closet where I
pulled out a large gray T-shirt. Surprised to see “Julliard” printed across the
front.
 
Cayden had never actually
attended Julliard, but once again I was faced with yet another similarity to
Austin
. I shook my head
in utter amazement while pulling off my clothes. I tugged his T-shirt on. It
hung long, and the shoulder seams were dangling down to the middle of my upper
arms. I giggled to myself, grabbed a towel, bounced downstairs, headed out the
back door, and walked over to the brightly lit pool. It shimmered clear blue
against the setting sun and the lights of the city.
 
Breathtaking.

I put one foot into the pool then swirled my
foot around. The warm water caressed me. I slid down into the pool and sunk
beneath the surface of the water until I floated motionless in the quite
depths. The wet warmth surrounded all of me. Like being wrapped in a perfectly
warm, perfectly secure cocoon of liquid blue. It was familiar. Reminiscent of
losing myself in the clear liquid blue of Cayden’s eyes. Needing air, I popped
my head up, breaking the surface, taking in the much needed oxygen into my
lungs. Once I brushed the water and the wet hair from my face, I saw Cayden
standing at the edge of the pool. I focused on him, smiling from ear to ear,
and looking down at me as if I was the only women in the world. He was perfect
and even brighter than the lights of the city. He shined.

“Hey,” he greeted before he stripped off his
shirt, letting it hit the concrete.

“Hey yourself,” I replied, watching him take
everything off. And I do mean everything.

Chapter Six

Am I Dreaming?

Cayden inched down into the water. I grinned
when he reached out and took me into his arms. He held me tight against his
rock hard body. I placed my wet cheek against the steely strength of his
shoulder. He moved my body with his and maneuvered us closer to the waterfall.
It sounded like a tropic paradise. The water cascaded over the edge of the
glass wall before finding its end in the pool.

“I’m sorry,” he said then looked at me quite
serious. The tone in his voice apologetic. “But this shirt you are wearing has
got to go.” He tugged at the bottom, moving me without effort into the corner
of the pool. “Lift.” So I lifted my arms up while he pulled the shirt up over
my head. He gave me his crooked guilty smile and hurled the shirt into the
bushes. “And these, too.” Cayden yanked at my panties. They slipped down my
thighs and free from my ankles. He let them go, free floating. I watched them
sink to the bottom of the pool. I felt my cheeks blush hot.

“I probably look like a drowned cat,” I muttered
while hiding my face in the crook of his shoulder.

“A drowned cat should look so good,” he replied
in his low silky voice.

Cayden placed his right hand then his left hand
to my waist. His hands always fit perfectly upon my body. Using the buoyancy of
the water, he drew himself into my body even more. As he towed me forward, my
back that was wedged into the corner arched. I felt his long strong fingers move
up the curve of my spine.

“Have you ever made love in pool?” he inquired,
smiling. By his expression, I knew he was quite pleased with himself in this
moment.

“No. Have you?”

“No, but there is a first time for everything.”

Cayden kissed me so long and hard I thought the
water was beginning to boil over the edges of the pool from the heat we
generated. By the time we exited the pool, and I gathered up the Julliard
T-shirt from the bushes, it was almost dry. I jerked the shirt on over my head
then fished out my underwear with the pool net. I glanced at my fingertips;
they were prune-like, extensively wrinkled from being submerged so long in the
pool water.
 
I laughed. Cayden who was
wearing his pants came to hug me around my waist.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“We have been so preoccupied with each other and
in the water so long my skin is like a prune. This shirt is almost dry. I feel
like jelly, and I am fishing out my underwear with your pool equipment. Do you
think we are crazy or what?”

“Yes but who cares,” he replied before his lips
brushed my jawline. “Come on.” Cayden grabbed my soaking wet underwear from the
inside of the net and handed them to me.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You have got to be hungry. I know I am
famished.”

We entered in through the back doors of his home
to find
Chandler
sitting in the family room. He was watching some sort of a game on one TV and
holding a
Corona
with his index finger wrapped around the neck of the glass bottle. I smiled. He
held it just like Cayden and Austin.

Turning to look at me, he asked, “How was the
water?”

There I stood with my panties wadded up in a
soaking wet ball inside my hand. They were dripping pool water on the tile
floor. “Um…,” I mumbled.