The Bride's Curse (18 page)

He was the loathsome, selfish, cold-hearted jerk who’d walked away and left a bride with no comeback other than to spend the rest of her life in lonely seclusion, shielding herself with the belief that she’d inherited the power of the black arts from a long line of witchy ancestresses.

Not to forget the revenge of cursing her wedding gown … a curse that was echoing years later and wrecking Kelly’s life. She fisted her hands. If only he were solid enough, she’d punch him.

“Brett? Look at this man. This is the dead guy, I’m sure!”

“So this is Troy Matthews? The man who broke Mary’s heart?”

Kelly sighed. “You know what this means. Of course, if I’m seeing him, then he’s dead.”

A small cry alerted them to someone else in the room. They both swung around to see Mary Atwell, in robe and slippers, standing in the doorway looking grief-stricken.

“You mean—you’ve seen my Troy? Is he a ghost? He really is dead?”

Brett was at his aunt’s side in two quick strides, guiding the older woman to a chair.

“Oh, Brett, I’ve hoped for so long that one day he would come home.”

Brett’s mouth tightened to a grim line. “Auntie, the man left you literally at the altar, and in all these years he’s never had the decency to even check if you were all right.”

Tears seeped from Mary’s eyes at the anger in his voice. She blew her nose into another of her stash of tiny, lace-edged handkerchiefs. “Don’t be angry with him, Brett darling. Something happened, I know it did. I could just never bring myself to believe he was dead. At first I just hated him for what happened. As time went by I realized I still loved him, no matter what. And I found myself hoping that wherever he was, he was at least happy. You’d think, when we loved each other deeply, that I would have known if he had departed this world.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make up for everything now, Mary,” Kelly suggested, casting a quick warning look at Brett as she handed the photograph over to his aunt.

Mary smiled a watery smile as she looked down at the four young people frozen in happier times within that frame. She tenderly stroked her finger over the photograph, smiling sadly. “Oh, Troy, have you really come back to tell me what happened?”

Kelly’s own eyes filled as she saw the woman was wearing a diamond ring on her left-hand ring finger. Was it the engagement token Troy had given her so long ago?

She refocused as Brett placed his hand on her arm. “Listen, this has gone far enough. Kelly, I know that you are finding this a strain. But that is nothing to what you’re putting my aunt through by encouraging her with all these questions. I think it would be a good idea if I took you home.”

“No, Brett,” Mary exclaimed, her expression anxious. “I have waited so long for this moment. If I could only know why Troy jilted me, if I could only understand what happened on that awful day, then I could spend whatever time I have left to me in peace.” Mary dabbed at her eyes with the tiny white handkerchief. Kelly had the wild thought that she had traveled back in time to a Victorian living room and this was the heroine of a black-and-white movie. She had never seen anyone use such a tiny scrap of lace handkerchief before. For a child of the sixties, Mary Atwell was remarkably old-fashioned. But then, she’d been brought up an heiress, taught to be a lady.

“Kelly? If you believe that the spirit you are seeing is my Troy, then that means he’s dead?” The tears were now coursing down Mary’s cheeks.

“Well, the ghost I see is an old man now … ” Kelly groped for a kinder way to explain what she thought.

Mary tapped the picture thoughtfully. “If the ghost is an old man, then he only recently left us … ”

Kelly knelt beside the older woman’s chair, holding onto those thin, birdlike hands. Instead of the alarming iciness she had felt previously, Mary’s hands just felt like the cool fingers of a fragile older woman. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I should have seen this a little sooner. All the clues were there. Believe it or not, I woke up with this photograph in my mind.”

“Maybe it was my poor dear Troy, whispering to you in your sleep.”

“Well, something like that.” Kelly caught Brett’s eye and flushed, knowing he was remembering their own whispered endearments last night. Mary looked from her to Brett, a small knowing smile flittering across her lips.

Kelly’s blush deepened.
That hot sex must be written all over our faces!
Remembering the visitation of the previous night, she glanced nervously toward the end of the room, half expecting the ghost to reappear. This time there was only empty air. With an odd feeling of loss, Kelly realized that she had fulfilled her mission; she had brought closure to a grieving bride and carried out the wishes of her dead lover who should now be able to find his rest.

“I know I will be grateful to you for this once the initial shock has worn off. I did hope that there would be some answers to the questions I have asked so many times over the years, wondering why he did what he did. If he has gone on to the next plane, then I suppose I will have to wait until I see him there and everything else becomes clear.”

Mary wiped her eyes again with that wisp of a handkerchief. Brett bent and put his arms around her and she looked up at him with a tearful smile. “I should thank you, too, Brett, for caring enough to find my wedding gown and so start the chain of events that brought Kelly and her gift to me. But now I think it’s time you took this lovely young lady home.”

So they reluctantly left her there, a sixty-something woman lost in reminiscence of her youthful love affair, her fingers absentmindedly stroking the silver framed memories.

• • •

They were back on the road to Marina Grove when an awful thought slammed into Kelly’s brain. “Brett! Turn the car around. We have to go back right now.”

Tires screamed on the asphalt as Brett stamped on the brakes and pulled hastily into the hard shoulder, responding to the urgent note in her voice. “What’s wrong, Red? Have you forgotten something?”

She was too abstracted to even threaten him about the use of the nickname. “Yes, I’ve forgotten my common sense. I need to check something … but don’t ask me about it yet.”

With a good-natured shrug, he did a U-turn. Fortunately it was still early and the traffic was light. “I’m happy to go back, actually; I was pretty worried about Aunt Mary and I think I’ll ask the housekeeper to check up on her during the day. And I need to check at the post office.”

Kelly frowned. “Can’t it wait? I mean, I really need to get back and talk to your aunt. Then I’ve got to get back to Wedding Bliss and clean up the mess from the old ghost’s tantrum last night.”

“Won’t take a minute.” Brett was soon pulling into a parking spot in front of the post office. He got out of the car without another word and strode inside while Kelly fretted and watched the minutes on the car dashboard clock mount up.

Left alone in the car, she thought about the swaying shoulders and waving hands of the apparition. The ghost looked as if he were miming a message in some awful game of charades. But was he really reaching out to clasp his abandoned bride? It was a reasonable assumption if the relationship between the two of them had been as strong as Mary claimed. And yet it made much more sense that he was trying to give them a clue hidden in the photograph .…

Stuck in her mind was the fleeting glimpse of Mary Atwell as they were leaving her a short time ago. In her mind’s eye she could see the other woman, her face a mask of sadness, her thumb caressing one of the faces in the photograph.

The wrong face.

Kelly burned with the need to hurry and take a closer look at that photograph.

“That was a lot more than a minute,” she snapped when Brett finally reappeared.

“Don’t be so impatient, sweetheart. I think it may well have been worth the stop.” He pushed a pale blue envelope into his inside jacket pocket. It was torn open so he’d obviously taken the time to read its contents. She was desperate to ask him more, but she was darned if she was going to appear to be prying into his private affairs. After all, she couldn’t imagine how Brett’s mail could possibly be anything but a private matter to him.

“Just watch the road, Atwell!”

“Yes, Red!”

“I told you … ” But they were already turning into the circular driveway in front of the Atwell home so she let him away this time. Brett would pay for his constant use of that hated nickname another time. She smiled secretively at thoughts of just how she’d make him pay …

Brett had barely stopped the car before she threw herself out of the passenger seat and hurried toward the big front doors. Anxiety about Mary Atwell’s story was gnawing at her incessantly now. She chewed her bottom lip, worrying the tender flesh as she struggled with an idea that was taking root. Only one
living
person could give her a straight answer to that puzzle. That darned Old Man on the Bench was playing with her—she knew he wouldn’t, or maybe couldn’t, come out and tell her what she needed to know. Only Mary Atwell could do that.

“Did you know that thing you do with your teeth on your bottom lip is incredibly sexy?” Brett caught up with her on the doorstep and nuzzled her ear, getting a sharp look from Mrs. Patrowski when the housekeeper opened the door. Hiding a smile, Kelly reached for his hand, reveling in the warm intimacy between them.

He smiled back, the kind of exclusive, secret smile of lovers. Kelly’s pulse jumped and she held his hand tighter.

Brett led her through the front door and she made her way directly to the small parlor where she had met Mary earlier. As she guessed, the older woman was still there, looking shrunken in her chair as she gazed sadly at the photograph she held in her hands. Her eyes were bright with tears still unshed.

She looked startled to see her nephew and Kelly back so soon, but she managed a gracious smile and invited them to sit down. “I’ll ask Mrs. Patrowski to bring us some coffee—or would you prefer tea at this hour?” she asked, reaching for a small bell on the table near her elbow.

Kelly accepted, to be polite, even when every fiber of her body wanted to ask Mary just one simple question. She curbed her impatience until the housekeeper had wheeled in a small cart with coffee things and a variety of pastries.

When the housekeeper had left the room and everyone was settled with coffee, Mary spoke dreamily, “I was just enjoying a bittersweet trip down Memory Lane.” She looked down at the photograph in her lap. “I have such wonderful memories of the times Troy and I shared, and our friends. Oh, we didn’t get into the whole hippie thing that was going on in the sixties. We didn’t need psychedelic drugs to enjoy each other’s company or to know what was real.”

Kelly rose and went to kneel beside Mary’s chair. “I am so sorry if the things I told you—that the ghost I was seeing was Troy—made you sad.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “There was a time when I wished him alive and I could confront him. Then I took comfort from imagining all the nasty things I’d say, to try to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt me. I even fantasized that he was dead, that I’d someday find a note, or see a reference, or something like that, that would tell me he’d died a hero in Vietnam … anything to ease the pain that ate away at me. Because I still love him, Kelly. I just needed to know what happened. No one would talk to me about it. They all thought I was too fragile, too hurt. Now it’s too late.”

“I think maybe … did you ever look him up on Google?” Kelly asked, ignoring the snort of laughter from Brett.

Mary looked at her, wide-eyed. “Are you joking, my dear? I’ve never even touched one of those computer things, although I have heard a lot about them. No, not for me, I’m too old … ”

“My eighty-year-old granny uses one. She loves it. You should try it sometime,” Kelly replied.

“Maybe, but I don’t know … you say your granny knows how to use one?”

“Yes, she says it’s her window on the world. She is diabetic and can’t get out much, so she stays in touch by email and Facebook.”

“Well, who’d have thought it?”

“You’re probably wondering why we came back so soon after leaving?” Kelly prompted.

“I certainly am,” muttered Brett. Kelly shot him a quelling glance.

“Actually, I thought either you’d forgotten something or that Brett was worried about me. He’s a real worrywart, you know.”

The worrywart blushed and Kelly grinned at him. She was constantly amused by the way his fair skin colored so easily. Who’d have thought that a man’s blush could be so sexy? “Is he now? That’s good to know. Mrs. Atwell, I have a question that I should have asked before.” A dreadful idea was prickling to life inside her brain. She knew she couldn’t put this off much longer, so she drew in a deep breath and asked, “Who are the people in that photograph?”

Mary lovingly stroked her fingers along the faces of the four people there. “The woman in the cloche hat is Elizabeth, my best friend, and the other man is Peter Arnt who was Troy’s best friend and would have been his best man.” Tears filled her eyes as she looked backwards at the past. Mary was the picture of grief.

Brett looked on, frowning as if he was about to intercede.

Before he could, Kelly asked, “Is that Troy sitting right beside you?”

Mary drew in a deep breath as if the air had all been sucked out of the room. She directed a puzzled glance at Kelly. “This is my Troy, right here, standing behind me. The man sitting next to me is Elizabeth’s beau, Peter. Poor Elizabeth, she tried to stay friends with me after the fiasco of a wedding, but it was hard. Then she went to live in France and married Peter there. I didn’t want to see anyone, you see.” She dragged out a deep sigh. “I heard the poor dear died of breast cancer a few years ago, long before her time.”

Kelly rose to her feet, the anguish in her voice causing Brett to put his hand on her shoulder. “Oh, dear—it looks like I’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick somehow. The ghost I’m seeing is that of Peter. I am so sorry … ”

Mary looked up, a brilliant smile lighting her face. “Why would you be sorry, dear? Surely that means that Troy might still be alive?”