Rosethorn (32 page)

She spent her lunches in Mr. Leach's classroom and walked to her classes by circuitous, out of the way routes to avoid running into either of them, but otherwise she did not give in. She knew he would come to her eventually and so outside of calling his house, she did not approach him.

Andrew would have found it funny, she thought, to know how blindly she had come to trust that this great leap of hers would end in safety in his arms. She was that sure.

Hours into days, days into weeks, it was an eternity and too soon, long drawn out days or mere moments after he had left her by herself at the old house and then it was finals week.

One minute she was writing an essay in her British Authors class and the next, she could not run fast enough to the bathroom to vomit.

Hurrying after school and frantically digging through her underwear drawer for the pink plastic pill clamshell and comparing the rows to the calendar by her desk, and counting again and counting again, and yet again, but still unable to reconcile the two. She had not erred in anything else, had remembered every homework assignment, aced all her exams, was punctual for every single one of her jobs, and yet she was now late.

"All the same mistakes. Everything happening all over again," she mumbled to Alli, whose face mirrored her own fear.

They huddled together behind the closed doors of Sera's room, whispering as they eyed the three used pregnancy test sticks on her dresser. Sera had prayed that the first positive had been a mistake so she took another one. And then another one. All came up with the bright red, accusatory line.

"How could I have skipped one whole week? What am I going to do?"

"You have to tell him."

Sera laughed dully. "Right, let me just pick up the phone. Oh, wait, he's not taking any of my calls."

"He would if he knew about this. You know he'd rush right over and stand by you. He'd do the right thing. I know he would."

"Alli, I've never been so scared in my life. I wish I knew what to do.”

Whatever she heard in Sera's voice at that moment, whatever she saw in her face jolted Allison enough so that she straightened up and said in a firm voice, "Listen to me, we're going to get through this. You're not alone. We just have to think, okay? The first thing you have to do is tell him. He's got a right to know, no matter what."

Sera nodded weakly. "Can you call him then? Maybe you'll have better luck. I don't think I can take his mom telling me he's out playing basketball. Again."

With a determined set to her mouth, Allison dialed the number. Nodding encouragingly at Sera, she said in her most pleasant voice, "Good evening. May I please speak with Andrew LaSalle? This is Allison. Thank you.” She covered the mouthpiece and whispered, "It was his mom. She's going to go get him.”

"Oh?” Allison frowned. "A message?” She looked questioningly at Sera as she covered the mouthpiece again.

"Tell her to tell him that I'll be waiting for him. He'll know where."

"Uh, Mrs. LaSalle, can you please convey to Andrew that Sera needs to speak with him immediately regarding an urgent and important matter. And that she'll be waiting for him. He'll know where. Thank you.” She slammed the phone down. "Coward. We should just go over there, ram down his door, and make him face you."

"No. I know he'll come to the house. That's where I need to tell him. That's the only place where I can get him back.” 

With the sun setting and the air becoming colder with the approach of night, they drove out to Rosethorn.

"I don't like leaving you here by yourself.” Allison said as she looked around uneasily at the great room. "It'll be dark soon."

"Don't worry. I'll light some candles. Besides, he'll be here soon."

Allison was about to say something, but thought better of it, patting Sera's shoulder instead. "Will you be okay? You haven't eaten dinner.”

"I don't think I can keep anything down right now. I don't know why they call it morning sickness. More like all day sickness. Remember, if my grandma calls, tell her I've fallen asleep. She shouldn't call anyway. I told her we're doing an overnight study group for Calculus finals. Andrew and I will drive in to school tomorrow.” 

"Are you sure you don't want me to wait with you?"

"I'm sure."

"What if---"

"He'll come. He knows it's important.”

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow then.”

A reluctant hug good-bye, and Allison was driving away, clouds of dust chasing her caramel-colored Karmann Ghia. Sera stood awhile by the rusted old gate, watching the forlorn dirt road. She tried picturing how she would tell Andrew, how he would react, but she couldn't get past the anticipation of running into his arms.

Still nauseous, but her spirits lighter since that morning, Sera walked back inside the house. She unrolled the sleeping bags and unfolded the blankets they kept in the closet by the foyer, then set out the half-melted pillars of candles with blackened wicks, but did not light them. They would be burning them all night and so she would save them until needed.

With their makeshift bed on the floor of the great room waiting for them, Sera started wandering about the darkening house, with no need of candlelight for she knew each turn, each step, each room by touch and memories of other hours, other days they spent here.

That first day when they had crouched by the wooden griffins, and she had been shocked to see how fragile he was, how easily he could be hurt by her. The countless afternoons, when like children on an adventure, they would explore the house unearthing its wonders. The attic full of newspapers from the 1890s. The secret panel hiding a staircase that led from the den upstairs to the kitchen. The turret made entirely of stained glass, its potential, imagined magnificence a mere glimmer underneath the thick surface of dirt. The strange little open gazebo-like structure only reachable by a hair's-width set of hidden steps in the attic.

"No wonder you like this house so much," he had said, "It's got as many secrets as you do."

They spent stolen hours in every room, in every season, but the one most vivid, the one that made her ache every time she remembered it was during the last of the summer days the year before when he picked her up in his trembling arms then gently laid her down in a pile of blankets on the floor of the great room. Still wet from swimming and smelling of chlorine and sun and both of them shivering, but not because they were cold, he tried to ask her once again if she was sure.

"I want to give you everything, Andrew," as she took down first one strap then the other of her damp bathing suit. "All that I have, all that I am is for you.”

She had said that to him, right by this mantle, in this great room where he had last left her. She remembered also what he said then, when he accused her of having secrets. Well, she thought as she laid a hand on her stomach, he can't accuse her of keeping this one from him.

“I’ll wait, Sera. As long as it takes,” he swore to her once in this same room. She remembered that now, the truth of it so clear and bright that it hurt then, as it did now.

You're everywhere in this house, she would say to him when he arrived. I understand too well how someone could go crazy living alone here.

Exhausted, Sera lay on the sleeping bags. She lit one candle to help her stay awake and watched the door through heavy lids as she huddled on her side. The light pooled golden about her, staving off the edge of darkness.

*****

Sera awoke with a start in the pitch black house.

The candle by her side had long ago died out and melted into a frozen pool of wax on the floor.

Seized by the waves of nausea that had awoken her, she crawled on the floor towards the front door, and dragging herself up, ran outside and vomited. After heaving the surprising contents of what she thought was an empty stomach, she leaned against the porch railing and looked out over the overgrown garden.

Slivers of dawn were breaking over the somber navy sky, where the yellow sickle of a waning moon was beginning to fade.

Gnawing with merciless hunger now, Sera stumbled in the unfamiliar garden, trying to remember where the strawberries grew. On her hands and knees, she blindly grasped at the ground by the rose bushes. Hands bleeding from sharp thorns, she was triumphant in seizing little berries she greedily devoured, its sweet juices exploding in her mouth. One after the other, she scoured in the dark for berries that tasted of blood and sugar, barely keeping them down.  

The sun rose a little more and then she walked back in the house, where she rolled up the sleeping bags and the blankets and put them away, along with the rest of the unused candles. She scraped the melted candle wax off the floor with her nails and threw the remnants in the fireplace.

Then, with her backpack on, she closed the door, turned away from the house, and started the long, solitary walk past the gate down an empty road.

PART III

Chapter 21

A year-and-a-half later...

"
Stivali di tuono
," Marcello called out over his shoulder as he led Sera to the sitting room. He leaned towards her and she could smell pomade from his pompadoured, gray-streaked hair.

"Now, Serafina, whatever she asks of you, please indulge her," he whispered in his heavily accented voice. Not explaining his mysterious plea, Marcello straightened up as Elise fluttered in, exchanged a few words in Italian, and walked out, twirling his mustache in a preoccupied manner.

Smelling of lemon verbena, her jet black hair in crimped waves, too dark to be natural, her pale skin glowing like cold milk, Elise wore her customary dark red lips and kohl-lined eyes. When Sera first met her, she was taken aback by Elise's dramatic looks and faint air of theatricality. Sera assumed that she must have been an actress in her younger days, but was surprised to find out she had been a chef and now led gastronomic tours with her husband, Marcello, throughout Umbria.

They rented out their apartment in the Upper East Side for short-term rentals to tourists. Once a month or so, Sera would get a call abroad from either Marcello or Elise, asking her to clean and restock the apartment. They had called her three weeks ago letting her know that they were coming for a brief visit, and then a call this morning, asking her to come down.

"Please sit, my dear."

Sera sat at the edge of the velvet chair, curious and quiet. Elise sat across from her. Sensing that the other woman wanted to reach out and clasp her hands, Sera sat back so that she was leaning against the seat.

"Is there something wrong?" She saw Elise glance quickly at her arms, at the way she clutched the ends of her long sleeves in tight fists. "Everything was fine when I cleaned up here two weeks ago."

"No, nothing's wrong," Elise said quickly, troubled by something. "You've been cleaning the apartment for how long now?"

"About a year."

"Yes, a year. Since last December, I recall, when the housekeeping service fell through, and those newlyweds from Swansea were coming for their honeymoon. Anne down the hall recommended you and you rescued us."

Sera waited for the other woman to say more; instead she just looked at Sera, large, dark gray eyes holding hers captive. "Are you hungry?"

"Uh, sorry?"

Elise was getting up, seemingly having made up her mind about something.

"Do you have to be anywhere? I was thinking of making bread. I find there's nothing more wonderful than the smell of baking bread. Would you help me?"

"I was just going to---"

"Good!" Elise said, not waiting for Sera to protest, as she took her by the hand and led her bewildered to the kitchen.

"Ever made bread before?" Elise asked as she handed a worn apron to Sera.

A vivid, whirling force in the kitchen, Elise mixed, slapped, and kneaded with her deft hands, crowned at wrists with ropes of thick pearls, while asking Sera to hand her the tin of sea salt, that old tin pan, or unlock the bottle of olive oil pressed from her friend's olive grove in Cortona.

Sera was mostly silent, captivated almost against her will by Elise's soft musical voice lilting as she described
il forno
, the wood furnace oven, in her home in Umbria, the earthy, familiar way she moved in the kitchen. Clouds of flour spun in the air when she was done and slowly settled on both of them as the dough entered the oven.

Sera immediately started wiping down the counters, until Elise placed a warm and dusty hand on her sleeve. "Leave it." She dropped the rag on the soapstone, waiting for Elise to say what was on her mind.

"I was thinking of inviting some of my friends in the city over tomorrow night for a little dinner party," she mused as she looked off into space. "They'll be expecting Umbrian fare, but I was thinking of dishes I haven't visited in a long time, from my mother's land." She started counting on her fingers, whispering the names to herself. "...And Marcello and I will make thirteen. Oh no, that will never do. Would you, as a favor to me?" Elise had turned to her, her hands clasping hers. "Save us from bad luck?"