Season of Mists (Young Adult Paranormal Romance) (Cupid's First Strike - Teen Love In The 80's) Read online

  “I’ve got to go,” she said casually, rising gracefully and wadding her waxed paper into a ball. “Jack is waiting for me.” She waved and left.

  “See you,” Linda said wistfully, watching her go. Linda had been crazy about Jack since grade school, and he treated her like his kid sister. It drove her mad.

  “Wasn’t Gina seeing some college guy?” I asked. “Who was it?”

  Linda shrugged. “Who knows? Some poor Porsche owner who didn’t make the grade.” Jack’s father had a Corvette, which Jack “borrowed” frequently.

  “I met a new guy last night,” I said brightly, trying to pierce the gloom.

  Linda eyed me doubtfully. “At Werner Real Estate?”

  “That’s right.”

  She started to peel her orange. “So? Tell me.”

  Having introduced the subject, I didn’t know how to proceed. “Well, it was kind of weird, actually.”

  “Right up your alley,” Linda responded. “You thrive on weirdness. Remember that tuba player from Makefield Hills? What a case he had on you. Remember that haircut? What was his name?” She wrinkled her forehead, trying to recall it.

  “Howard Dinsmore,” I said faintly, trying to forget it. “Do we have to talk about him now?” Howard had not been my finest hour. It had taken me three months to get rid of him.

  “Okay, okay, don’t be so touchy. So what was weird about this guy you met?”

  “Well, for one thing, his clothes were funny.”

  “Why funny? What was he wearing, a dress?” She chuckled at her own joke.

  “Jeans.”

  She popped a section of orange into her mouth and made a sweeping gesture. “Cory, dear, look around you. Half the guys in this cafeteria are wearing jeans.”

  “Not like his. He had real ones, real farm-type jeans.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. He had real, as opposed to fake, jeans. What else?”

  “He was so . . . intense. I was talking about The Bell Jar, and he seemed very disturbed by the idea of suicide.”

  She stared at me. “Cory, no wonder you don’t have any dates. You meet a guy for the first time and you start talking about suicide? And he sounds like a million laughs too. What is he, some kind of depresso?”

  I sighed, frustrated. I was at a loss to describe how it had really been. Words could not convey the feeling of communication I’d had with Tom. Linda was used to cutesy banter at the pizza joint, and my encounter with Tom had been nothing like that.

  “You don’t understand,” I said lamely.

  “I guess I don’t. You’d better lighten up, or old weird Howard is going to start looking pretty good when you’re spending every Saturday night with the television set.”

  I didn’t answer; I was crestfallen.

  Linda saw my expression and relented. “All right,” she said gently. “Did he ask you out?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We talked for a while, and he seemed . . . anxious to see me again, but then he just left. I got up to let somebody in at the door, and when I got back he was gone.”

  Linda toyed with her coiled orange peel. “That is weird. Does he go to school here?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m not sure, but I think we would have noticed him.”

  Linda smiled slyly. “Umm-hmm. And what does this guy look like?”

  I grinned. “Cute. Real cute”

  She nodded. “I thought so. You’d better keep him out of Gina’s sight.”

  “Don’t you think she’s satisfied with Jack and his Corvette?”

  She shrugged. “You never know. Your guy may have a plane.”

  I laughed. “I doubt it. He doesn’t even drive.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “No kidding.” This stretched the limits of credulity. Everybody we knew got a license as soon as possible.

  “I don’t care,” I said. “Walking is fun. Bikes are nice.”

  The bell rang as Linda said, “You’ve got it bad. When do you see him again?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered morosely as we filed out of the cafeteria. “We didn’t make any plans, and I don’t know how to find him. He knows where I work; I’ll just have to wait for him to show up again.”

  “If he does show up again.”

  “Thanks a lot,” I said. “I needed to hear that.”

  Linda paused outside the double doors. She was heading in the other direction. “My guess is he’ll be back,” she said comfortingly. “Let me know what happens.”

  I watched her blue sweater blend in with the crowd in the hall, thinking that I would have to wait until Thursday night to see if she was right.

  Tom did not come on Thursday night. It was very busy for a weeknight, and I wasn’t alone for a minute as the agents ran in and out with their customers. I asked everyone if a boy had been in looking for me, and they all stared at me blankly, which did nothing for my ego.

  I passed Friday waiting for Saturday, but he didn’t show Saturday either. It was a madhouse in the office, and the phones kept me jumping all day. Agnes was on duty with me, and we were at each other’s throats by the end of the afternoon. My mood was not improved by Tom’s conspicuous absence. He would not be back. I knew it.

  I passed a miserable weekend, and volunteered to come in to work on Monday night for Benti, who was sick. I had nothing better to do and I wanted to fill the time.

  It was eight o’clock before Alice Glass, the assistant office manager, finally packed up and went home. I was glad to see her leave. My book report on The Bell Jar had gotten the expected response, a low grade and a caustic remark from Miss Kenworthy about the use of punctuation in English. I was anxious to do better with Ethan Frome. As soon as the office was empty and quiet, I opened the book and lost myself in the story of Mattie and Ethan.

  I read until I was tired, and paused to rub my eyes. I stretched, and looked up, rubbing my neck. I froze, my heart beating faster.

  Tom was sitting crosslegged on the floor, his back against one of the old stone supports,watching me.

  “Hello, Cory,” he said, and smiled.

  Chapter 2

  I was so happy to see him that for a minute all of my questions went right out of my mind. I stood and went to him, extending my hands to help him up. He took them, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to enfold me and press me to his side. I let my head fall to his shoulder.

  He released me after a long moment and looked down at me. He was wearing the same clothes as before, old and faded but scrupulously clean. His eyes were warm and gentle, inspiring trust. In the sherry colored iris I could see a reflection of my own radiant face.

  “I missed you,” he said.

  “I missed you too. Why didn’t you come sooner?”

  “I couldn’t, Cory. I knew that you were waiting for me, and I wanted to, but it was impossible. You believe me, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer his question, but asked one of my own. “Tom, how did you get in and out last time? The door was locked.”

  “Was it?” he asked mildly.

  “Yes, it was,” I responded, and waited. He eyed me speculatively, as if wondering how much he should tell me. It gave me an odd feeling, as if there were things he would like to say but dared not say them.

  “There is another door,” he finally answered obliquely. I stared at him, puzzled. Another door? We all entered and left from the front; everything else in the building had been boarded up with the renovation.

  “Where?” I demanded. “Show me.”

  He took my hand and led me to the back of the office area near the cellar. There was an alcove with a water cooler and a table where we kept the coffee pot and other housekeeping items. We walked through it and into another room, which wasn’t used for much of anything except storage. Tom pushed aside a filing cabinet and revealed the outline of a door in the wall, barely visible, with an old fashioned latch-type lock.

  “You c
ame in through this?” I asked.

  He pulled it open. “Yes. It goes to the balcony in the back,” he explained.

  The scent of the canal wafted over us as soon as we stepped through it. We were about twenty feet above the water on a wooden platform, which looked as if it were made of railroad ties. I had seen it from the parking lot, but had assumed that access to it was blocked by the changes that had been made in the building.

  “How did you know this was here?” I asked.

  “It was used to lower the milled corn and grains to the barges which pulled up below,” Tom said. “The bales were bundled up here and afterward dropped on ropes to the handlers, who then loaded them on deck.”

  That was interesting, but it didn’t answer my question. “You seem very familiar with the history of this place,” I observed.

  He glanced at me in the dim light from the partially illuminated shopping center. “There are books in the library about it,” he said.

  “We should go back inside,” I stated. “I have to listen for the phone.”

  “Can’t you hear it from here?” Tom asked.

  “I suppose so, if we leave the door open.”

  Tom positioned it so that it would stay ajar, and led me along the platform to the other end. The water of the canal looked dark and shiny, reflecting the streetlights with a pearlescent glow. He leaned over the railing and gazed at the muddy banks, closed now to all traffic except that of human feet.

  “The farmers used to bring the grain in from miles around here,” he said dreamily. “The mill was a hub of activity in those days.”

  “How did the mules haul the barges?” I asked.

  “They were strapped to the barge by long tethers. As they walked along the path beside the canal they pulled the barge.”

  “The poor mules,” I said sadly. “That sounds like hard work.”

  He glanced at me and smiled. “Are you an animal lover?”

  I nodded. “I have a dog, but she considers herself a person.”

  Tom put his arm around me and hugged me close. “I had a dog once, for fourteen years. We grew up together. He died peacefully of old age, but I was heartbroken just the same.”

  I leaned my head back against his shoulder. “Do you think it’s true that animals don’t go to heaven? Some people think they have no souls, and it’s all over for them when they die.”

  He stroked my hair. “What do you think?”

  “I think I don’t want to go to heaven if Stella isn’t going to be there.”

  “So you want her to be with you.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then she will be.”

  I straightened and looked up at him. His profile was a dim outline in the dark.

  “How can you be so sure?” I asked.

  He squeezed my shoulder. “Heaven is the union with all that you love, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so.” I hadn’t really thought much about it, except to decide that if they didn’t take dogs, it wasn’t for me.

  “Then you will see Stella, and anyone else you loved in life.”

  “My grandmother?”

  “Your grandmother too.”

  “You believe that?” I asked him.

  “I believe it, and so should you. It is so.”

  I sighed and relaxed into the warmth of his body. There was a wonderful certainty about him that instilled confidence. I hardly knew him, yet I didn’t doubt what he said. I tried to imagine having this conversation with any of the boys in my school, and couldn’t do it. And I suddenly knew that this was why I had always felt cut off from the rest of the kids, as if I didn’t fit in with their world.

  The phone rang and I jumped. Tom released me and I hurried inside to answer it. He followed more slowly. I heard him close the door and replace the filing cabinet in front of it.

  It was my mother. She wanted me to stop off at the convenience store on my way home and pick up a few things. I wrote down the list of items and stuck it in my pocket before hanging up.

  Tom studied my face as I replaced the receiver. “What’s wrong, Cory?”’

  “Nothing.”

  His brows shot up. “Something, I think.”

  I gestured vaguely. “Oh, it’s just my mother. She’s so unhappy. I know she still loves my father, and she won’t do anything about it.”

  “Where is your father?”

  “Phoenix, Arizona.”

  Tom sat patiently on the edge of the desk, waiting for an explanation.

  “They got divorced last year,” I added.

  “I see.”

  He was too polite to inquire further, but I was surprised to discover that I wanted to tell him about it. Usually it took a crowbar to pry anything out of me.

  “After they split up, he took a company transfer to go out there. I think he wanted to get away.”

  “And you miss him,” Tom said.

  I looked down at my hands in my lap. “Very much.”

  Tom leaned over and took my arm, pulling me out of my seat. He led me around to face him and said, “Would it help if you talked it out?”

  “It might.”

  He sat on the floor, his back to the wall, and held out his arms for me to join him. I curled up next to him and put my head on his shoulder.

  “I don’t think you’ve told anyone else what you feel about this, is that right?” Tom said softly.

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I’d be privileged to hear it,” he replied.

  So I poured it all out; the fights between my parents that gradually got worse and worse, until they were arguing about almost everything. The way I dreaded coming home so much that I eventually took to spending all my time with Linda or Rhonda, my friends from grammar school. And how I finally got back from a weekend at Linda’s house one day and found that my father had moved out for good.

  Tom listened in silence, without comment, but I knew that he was absorbing every word. I could feel it in the posture of his body, the way he would hug me tighter when I got to a difficult part, or hold his breath when I described a painful scene. When I ran out of words I stopped, waiting for his reaction. He just held me for a while, and then gently turned me to face him.

  “I know you’ve been very lonely,” he said quietly.

  “Yes. Have you?”

  A shadow passed over his face. He looked away, his eyes focused on a distance I couldn’t see. “So lonely, Cory, you cannot imagine it. I’ve been waiting forever, hoping for you to come.”

  I felt a tightness in my throat. I heard something in his voice that I had not heard for years. He sounded like my grandfather after my grandmother died.

  “I’m here,” I said softly.

  He inclined his head, putting his face against my neck. “Yes, you are. I have you, and I will keep you, just as long as I can.”

  This frightened me. What did he mean? He sounded as though he expected something to separate us. “You’ll keep me if I have anything to say about it,” I answered lightly to divert him.

  He didn’t reply, merely pulled me tighter against him. When I opened my eyes, my glance fell on the wall clock. It was twenty minutes to ten.

  I sat up sharply. “Oh my gosh, look at the time!”

  Tom looked up slowly, as if dazed. “Time?” he said.

  “Yes, I was supposed to lock up at nine-thirty. My mother will be waiting for me and I still have to stop at the store.”

  He watched me as I ran around putting things in order to close the office.

  “Must you leave?” he said unhappily.

  I looked at him. “I have to go home, Tom. I can’t stay here after hours; I’m a minor.”

  “What?”

  “I’m underage. I’m only permitted to work a certain number of hours in a week.”

  He stood and watched me morosely as I got out my keys. “You will be back?” he persisted.

  “I’ll be back.” I couldn’t understand why he was so worried that I might not show again. Why didn’t he just ask
me to a movie or something? Why did he depend entirely on my presence in the mill?

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” he said, following me to the door.

  “Why don’t you walk me home?” I suggested. Please, please, walk me home.

  He dropped his eyes, staring at the floor.

  “It isn’t far,” I added hopefully.

  “I can’t,” he said flatly.

  “Why not?”

  Tom raised his head and met my gaze. “Cory, I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but please, just trust me. I would go with you if I could, but I can’t.”

  There was no way to argue with that. I felt instinctively that he was telling me the truth, but couldn’t imagine a situation that would impose such conditions on him.

  “I’ll be back Wednesday,” I said. “Will I see you then?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so.”

  He acted as though the circumstances of our meeting were beyond his control. But how could that be?

  “Well, I guess I’d better say good night.” I stood looking at him, loath to lose contact, unsure when I would be with him again.

  He took a step toward me and put his hands on my shoulders. He bent and kissed me, quickly, on the lips.

  “Good night, Cory.”

  I turned to lock the door. He waited at my side.

  “Cory?” he said, as I rattled it in the jamb, trying the lock.

  “Yes?”

  “Are the ducks still in the pond across the street?”

  “You mean Lake Afton? Sure, they’re there.”

  “Good. I used to love to watch them glide along; they’re so beautiful.”

  “We’ll go over and see them sometime,” I offered.

  He didn’t answer for a moment, and then he said, “When you look at them, think of me.”

  I glanced at my watch. “I really have to go.”

  He jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and leaned against the closed door as I walked away. I glanced back at him over my shoulder. He was fixed in the same position, watching me.

  I waved. He removed one hand from his pocket and lifted it in farewell.

  I went on a little further and looked back again.

  This time, he was gone.

  * * *