Chapter 30
@BellaPatel *selfie with Lizzie, Everett, and Harry*:
Lucky meetup and then dinner with the lovely @LizzieWells. The woman GETS love—the grief, the joys, and all the in-betweens.
Dr. Wells—you inspire me.
Henry, Heathcliff, and I relish our last days in London.
We take Heathcliff to the Tower, where he wonders why Poison Ivy hasn’t stolen the Crown Jewels yet.
We stroll down unfamiliar streets to find the best tucked-away pubs, the charming ones with teal painted shutters and window boxes overflowing with ivy and water hyssops.
One afternoon, we devour a plate of perfect Scotch eggs.
Heathcliff eats two sides of fries, and Henry and I wash the savory sausage crusts down with ale.
On our last day, we linger, taking everything slowly.
I toss bread to the ducks of St. James Park while Henry shows Heathcliff how to fold the perfect origami paper boat.
It sails, tiny and determined, under the hazy late-afternoon sunlight.
We watch Heathcliff kick around a ball with some other children. The joys and challenges and uncertainties of this new chapter
play in my head.
“Where is Philip in all this? I mean now that we’re together.”
“That’s a pretty big question, Lizzie. But, well, something in my gut tells me that our happiness honors him. We’ll miss him
always—nothing’s going to change that. I’ll always feel the twang in my chest when I’m fishing alone. But he’d want us to
be happy and not pine away for him when it’s not going to do either of us any good. And I’ll keep his memory alive for Heathcliff.
I’ll tell him so many stories about his dad.”
“Thank you, Henry. I’d like that.”
I give him a little hug, before Heathcliff’s ball rolls over to us. I bend over to pick it up and toss it back to him. My
shirt rides up a little in the back.
“Did you get a tattoo?” Henry asks.
“I did.” I pull my shirt up a bit to let him see it.
“Can I?” he asks.
“Sure.”
He gently touches the ink, his fingers calloused against my lower back. “‘Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are
the same . . .’” he reads. His thumb lingers a little over the skin, slightly raised and still healing.
“I like it, Lizzie. I really do.”
I slip my shirt back in place and take his hand.
That evening, I sit on the little back patio sipping tea while Ms. Fernsby tends her flowers. I watch her carefully clip the
brown stems off her hybrid tea roses, revealing damp green interiors. The air is cool and pleasant; patches of waning sunlight
fall on the worn lichen-spotted patio stones.
I tell her about August.
“I assumed it was something along those lines. Insufferable man. And then to come here thinking he could win you back after
that. It’s my opinion that men like that underneath it all really want women like you. They’re just too selfish to give it
a go.”
Angrily, she sprays herbal repellent on the stems.
“You’re much better off with Henry. I can always tell when these things will work out. Lord and Lady Routledge argued to high
heaven behind closed doors. And I knew, underneath, even after Mabel’s birth that Lord Routledge would never love me. Now,
you and Henry—that’s another story. I have more than a good feeling that you both will be very happy together.”
Through the window, I watch Dad at the kitchen island work on a crossword puzzle. I remember him lonely and lost, making all
those lasagnas in our kitchen.
“I see some happiness for you as well, Ms. Fernsby.”
She blushes. “Gaylord told me last night he’s in no hurry to leave. And I’m glad for that.”
In the morning, I make sure I’ve packed everything, peeking under my bedroom chairs, inside the wardrobe. Lucy rolls lazily
out of my way as I pull back the bedcovers looking for loose socks. I leave the vibrator in the nightstand drawer. I’ve heard
horror stories from girlfriends about forgetting to take the batteries out and then the darn thing goes off at the airport
security checkpoint. I’m still Victorian widow enough to feel mortified at the idea of that happening.
Dad knocks softly on the open bedroom door.
“Can I do anything to help?”
“No, I think I have everything.”
He leans against the doorframe.
“Did you find what you sought at Haworth?”
“I did.”
In my mind’s eye, I see Philip at windy Top Withens. He’s peaceful. Watching.
I blink away the tears, take a deep breath.
“Dad, it was like walking a labyrinth. I didn’t have a destination. But the path changed me and brought me peace.”
“I believe you, Lizzie.”
As I straighten up the bed, fluffing the pillows, I catch his eye. “Ms. Fernsby says you’re not in any hurry to leave.”
Dad reddens. He was crazy about Mom. But I’ve never seen him in the flush of a new romance. It’s sweet.
“It doesn’t make sense to fly home right now. It’s only me there.”
“You can stay here as long as you want, Dad.”
“We’re getting along well.”
“It’s okay, Dad. It doesn’t mean you love Mom any less. You’ll always love her.”
His lip quivers. In my almost-forty years, I’ve never seen him cry. He takes off his glasses, dabs the corners of his eyes.
“Thank you, Lizzie.”
Henry, Heathcliff, and I leave by midmorning to make it to Heathrow. It’s all hugs and goodbye kisses in the parlor. Ms. Fernsby
vigorously embraces me and Henry. I hug Dad before he gives Henry a professional goodbye handshake. Heathcliff tries to hug
Lucy, and she hisses, swipes at him with sharp, curved claws. As I whisk Heathcliff out the door, Ms. Fernsby thrusts an enormous
bag of dairy-free toffee into his hands, and we’re off.
From the last page of Blood Ties:
“Your eye doctor?” Penny asks through tears.
“I had to tell you,” Hall says, packing. “I don’t want to lie to you. At least not anymore. From the start, you knew what I’m like.”
A stinging slap. Ouch. He supposed he deserved that.
Her gaze is furious. “Ah . . . so now that you’ve delivered your Copycat Strangler to Scotland Yard, you’ve caught your mouse
and now you’re done with Tintern and with me! We’re over?”
“I told you, Penny. We’ve had a good run, and yes, it’s over.” He zips up the suitcase. “I’m sorry. I can’t change who I am.”
“No, you can’t. But mind me, you’ve destined yourself to a hard road. I don’t know when, but someone sometime will break your
bloody heart, and when that happens, it will break you.”
From The Heathcliff Saga:
As she pins the freshly washed bed linens to the clothesline, Nelly glares at Cathy walking home from the moors. She sees
how the lass’s cheeks are reddened from the wind and Linton’s charms.
“You’ve been out to the cave again, haven’t ye?”
Cathy turns her nose up impudently. “And so what if I have?”
Nelly shakes her head, and her sunburned crow’s-feet deepen. “You can’t be fiddling around with the Fae’s powers without paying
a price.”
“What are you talking about?” Cathy feigns anger, but there’s fear in her eyes. “You’d better answer me, Nelly.”
“You love both those boys—Linton and Heathcliff. But the ancient powers here won’t let Linton keep meddlin’ for nothing.
Sometime, somehow, they’ll come calling for one of you three.
And I know, either one of those headstrong boys will sacrifice themselves for you.
Even I’ll admit, the love between you three is rarer and deeper than what the Fae can conjure.
They’ll be threatened. Jealous. You can bet on that and mind me they’ll come a-calling. ”
Cathy shakes her head, lip quivering slightly. “You’re wrong, Nelly. We have it all under control. Heathcliff and I just need
to keep Linton from taking all the magic for himself.”
“But it doesn’t work that way. You can’t control it, and a sacrifice will be required. It might not be for years to come—but
it’s coming nonetheless.”