The Lost Hearts (3 page)

Alexis blushed from the atten
tion.  Her face sank into her palm, and her eyes wandered, lost.  If Marion had come into their lives, it meant that Madeline Scott had left. 

More and more, Alexis
struggled to remember the details of her mother.  She’d been beautiful and soft, the way most children think of their mothers at a young age.  Alexis closed her eyes, and for a brief moment she could feel the slender arms of her mother around her tiny body.  She could almost smell the lavender scent which Alexis had sometimes pilfered from the crystal bottles on her mother’s vanity set.  More than anything, what Alexis remembered most was the happy spirit of her father sinking low and dark after her untimely death. 

For months he did not say a word.    Days would go by in which Alexis did not see Lawrence emerge from his study.  His body, which before had been strong and sturdy, shrank into a gaunt silhouette, his eyes bloodshot slits s
unken over black rings.  Those nights would have been silent as a tomb had it not been for Marion filling them up with tales of her childhood. And then little by little, her father reappeared in her life. 

Marion’s voice broke her spell.  “Why don’t you take some tea in the garden?  This is one of autumn’s best.” 

Alexis nodded.  “Thanks, Marion,” she agreed.  “But first I think it would do me good to get out of these clothes.” Slowly she moved down the hallway, lined with an endless golden Persian runner her father had brought home with him years ago from his travels to the Middle-East.  It was one of the first treasures he’d returned with that plunged her so vividly to another place, exotic in smells and sounds.  Though the books she coveted had more recently served as portals into faraway places, she had never actually left the familiarity of her homeland.  It was a point of resentment she didn’t like to think about. 

Her father had always supported her desire to learn more
about his own profession, he had even encouraged it.  Anthropology was the topic of discussion at every meal time, and Lawrence Scott spoke to her, sometimes mercilessly, as he would to any colleague.  For years she read and studied to attain the vernacular and knowledge to keep up with her father’s obsession and adventures, all of which eventually became her own.  She’d fallen in love with all the parallel realities, past and present, which existed beyond the borders of her home. 

Lawrence had appreciated his daughter’s mutual love for the science.  He’d pushed her and even groomed her to become his research assistant, but he had never permitted her to accompany him on his expeditions.  “I’m sorry to say it’s too dangerous for a woman, my dear,” was the familiar refrain when she co
nfronted him bitterly on countless occasions. 

“I have every right to go.  I am better equipped than many of the field researchers we
send,” she would argue tenaciously.  But it was never any use.  On this subject, Lawrence Scott would not concede.

Alexis stood in the arched doorway, pausing to admire the quiet gardens of their property.  Sh
e pulled her arms tightly over her chest.  The shock of crisp air felt good in her lungs.  Her eyes swept over the gardens and rested on an oak bench tucked cozily in some lilac bushes.  It was the spot where just months before Philip had led her in the still of the evening.  They had watched the stars become brilliant against a jet black sky.  She remembered the nervous energy, his strong, confident frame shifting restlessly.  She had been contemplating the peculiar flash of his eyes when his face opened into a smile and he brushed his lips against her forehead. 

She felt his mout
h open, and a weighted breath hung between them.  “I’m so in love with you, Alexis,” he finally managed, his throat clenching around the words.

That simple phrase had whipped Alexis
.  She had wanted to pull away, to examine his face.  But Philip cinched her tightly in his arms.  All at once she could feel his heart beat pounding into her.  She could smell the musk of his cologne in the back of her throat.  She could feel every line of his body in contact with her own. 

“I
’ve been crazy about you from the moment I saw you at university.” He laughed, suddenly sheepish.  “It hit me, out of nowhere. 
You
hit me.  I feel like I’ve been knocked senseless ever since.”  He fixed her with pools of iridescent green.  Grinning uncontrollably as he took her in, his eyes combed her with urgency.  “I want to be with just you.  Do you…feel…?”

His gaze and the intensity of his words, what he was asking her, it dizzied her.  No man had ever regarded her the way Philip had, and she felt smashed by the sheer luck of finding him.  She was nothing short of giddy with love, and her head whirled from its
heroin. 

Alexis had at first been wary of Phili
p. He was, after all, a Talbot, a member of the Boston aristocracy. Not to mention he was charming, confident, well-spoken, and accustomed to setting his sights on something and getting it.  Following the footsteps of Talbot men before him, Philip played all the right sports, cultivated the right interests, frequented the right spots, and knew the right people.  His life was something like a package, and he possessed the cunning and ambition to collect all the perfect parts.

They had met the previous year as Alexis was securing her doctorate in Anthropological Studies.  At first he’d teased Alexis like countless other classmates the many years before, though
, she had noted, not with spite.  Alexis’ mouth pulled into a wry grin as she recalled their introduction. 

“Hey,” someone had hissed obnoxiously from behind in International Economics.

Alexis turned her small frame in the wooden desk to see this stranger, head cocked to the side, his face beaming with a mischievous smirk. 

“What?” she returned cautiously.  Her classmates had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that she was not wanted or accepted among them.  She often researched alone or was coupled with an unwilling partner for course assignments.  She’d gotten used to walking around with her eyes directed to the ground so as not to meet the steely glares around campus. And so she regarded Philip with extreme skepticism.

“I’ve seen you around,” he said, a little thrown by the dumbness of his observation.  Alexis raised her eyebrows in sardonic praise.  “I’m Philip,” he tried again with his best effort at confidence.  He leaned forward, and a blond lock swept across his gaze as he extended a hand.

Alexis strained to reach him, and he held her hand longer than he ought to have done.  Red crept high along her cheek bones, and Philip triumphed inwardly.  “Do you have a partner yet for the term project?” 

Alexis had swept the room with her eyes, scanning her peers and waiting for the punch line.  She lifted an un-amused brow.  “No,” she responded flatly.

Philip opened his mouth a little wider in a cocky grin.  “Do you want to be mine?”

Now Alexis glared at him through slits.  She wasn’t going to fall for it, and she turned her back to him altogether.  She laughed as she remembered that it took him a week of pestering, home visits, and phone calls to convince her that he was serious. 

Granted
, he secretly shared the sentiment that her presence at the university was peculiar, her aspiration to pursue academics out of place.  But she was the most stunning woman he’d ever met, and so he took his future with her seriously.  He learned almost immediately that she wasn’t interested in other men, at least not the way most women her age were interested in men.  She paid little attention either to their scrutiny or praise. 

When Philip appeared in her life, it was with ease and disarming interest.  He never questioned her motives for attending school.  She liked that she did not have to explain herself to him.  She liked that he seemed eager to share her work, even
to learn from her.  She would never have guessed that his interest in anthropology was so singularly and personally focused. 

Even if Alexis was intrigued by his insistence, she had held him at arm’s length.  It wasn’
t until mid-semester that he earned her trust.  By then they’d become regular partners in course work, and they sat together in a lecture hall stuffed elbow to elbow with confident young men.  The professor had made some tired assertion about the economics of colonialism and Alexis’ boiling blood had practically thrust her hand upward involuntarily. 

“Aren’t we perpetuating overall inefficiency and dependency under this model?”  She could feel the heat swelling her cheeks.  Even if defiant, she disliked drawing attention to herself. 

Amid the snorts and muffled snickers, a voice sounded.  “Go back home and bake us some cookies.” 

Alexis felt herself disintegrate.  She had developed a tough skin
over the years as an outcast, but not enough to withstand direct assault, and especially not surrounded by hundreds of leering classmates just waiting for the chance to pounce.  In that moment, she’d wished with her bones and flesh for the ground to open and swallow her whole.  She was closing her notepad, her body springing for flight when she felt Philip’s hand press her shoulder.  She had never seen the green of his eyes erupt with such fire.

He had stoo
d from his chair and turned with a deliberate, agonizing slowness toward the heckler.  “Is that your very best?”  His voice was glacial.  “The first time you speak up in class and it’s total horseshit.  Congratulations.”  Philip swept his hand in a wide inclusive circle so that his audience had no doubt he was referring to each and every one.  “I’d like to see you prove her wrong.”

“That’ll be enough
, Mr. Talbot,” the professor had commanded, his humorless voice punctuating the impossible hush of the lecture hall.

Alexis’ brain had churned with contradiction.  She hated to be defended when her foes looked to seat her in a position of female weakness.  But if she had ever doubted Philip’s sincerity, this was the moment everything changed.  There was no pretense.  Only respect.  And in this careful way, Philip earned her trust as a workmate, friend, and ultimately
, as a lover.

***

“Alexis,” a soft, low voice cut through the quiet.  Alexis suddenly felt herself enveloped by warmth.  Her father stood behind her, wrapping a thick, cashmere shawl around her shoulders.  “What are you doing out here in the dark?  It’s getting chilly!”  Alexis nuzzled her small frame under his arm, smiling at the welcome scent of sweet pipe tobacco.  She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes.  He eyed her thoughtfully. “Well you must be doing some thinking out here.  I hope you’re not still giving Harry Bates any thought.” 

“No,” she said under her breath.  She didn’t know what more to say.  She and her father had never failed to find easy conversation, but then she had never talked to him earnestly about her life outside of the home or museum, let alone romance.  She wondered what her father really thought of Philip, if he was oblivious to the attention it had called among the upper crust.  As if reading her mind, her father placed a quick kiss on the top of her head just as he’d done when she was a girl. 

“You know…as much as I wish otherwise, I know I can’t fill the absence of your mother.  I’m sure there are things you would like to discuss.  I’m not so good at…”  Lawrence’s hands flew to his mustache in a nervous flutter.  “I imagine you could really use her at a moment like this.”  His voice choked with momentary emotion. 

Alexis scowled.  “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.  You’re wonderful.  I do miss her, though,” Alexis agreed wistfully.

“I miss her, too.”  Lawrence cleared his throat and squeezed her shoulder.  “Well, there’s no use in feeling sorry for myself,” he chuckled for self-preservation.  “Why don’t you join me in the study for a quick brandy?  I want to hear your thoughts on the field reports you’ve been reading up on.”  He gave Alexis an excited nudge and turned to go inside.  “And I want to talk about the trip!”   Even in the dark she could see color bursting into his round cheeks at the idea of one of their late night brandies.  It had become a ritual for them over the years that she had worked as his assistant. 

Even as they entered the cheerily
-lit house, Alexis could hardly suppress the urge to return to solitude.  She let her body sink against the expanse of the living room wall, resting her arm on the back of a cherry leather reading chair.  “I’m awfully tired,” her voice tapered, offering no explanation. 

Her father’s portly body spun. 
Eyeing her carefully, he took his white beard in hand and stroked it thoughtfully.  Sensing his daughter’s introspection pertained to matters of the heart, he suddenly fidgeted with the thin metal frames of his glasses.  Though he was a man of deep intelligence, he had never managed to articulate emotions, and for a moment he looked vulnerable and lost amidst the familiar surroundings of his home.

“I just need a good night’s rest is all,” she assured him.  His troubled expression unmoved, she leaned in to deliver a reassuring kiss on the cheek.  “Goodnight, father,” she said.  Lawrence stroked his daughter’s hair, nodding his head in acquiescence.

Not until she heard the heavy dark mahogany door to her bedroom close behind her did she feel she’d reached a sanctuary.  The light still burned in the green stained-glass lamp on her window-side table.  Its light haloed against the rich golden hue of the wall and caught on the humble frames displaying black and white photos of beautiful, happy faces.  She walked to the far corner of her room, a pocket of serene shadows, and turned on the small bed lamp.  Her eyes welcomed the illuminated image of her mahogany, four-poster bed, the plump chocolate-colored layers of blanket and pillow tempting her instantly.