Chapter Eighteen #2
Not Cleo, not Dobbs. She strained her ears, but couldn’t make out words, just the sound. And now a quick—male—laugh.
She felt no pull from the mirror.
Picking up her phone from the desk, she put it in her pocket.
Her house, she reminded herself, and walked quietly out of the library. She turned, followed the sound of voices. And music, she realized. Bon Jovi. “Livin’ on a Prayer.”
So eighties? Nineties? Or beyond that.
Not from the nursery, and she gave a quick thanks for that, as the room held so much sorrow.
No, they came from what she thought of as a den. Where, she remembered, Owen had once seen himself playing chess with a younger Collin.
Pulse quickening, she stepped to the doorway—the open doorway, where she kept it closed.
A fire crackled in the hearth, and a light snow—thin as gauze—fell outside the windows.
Two men faced each other over a chessboard. For an instant, just a flash, her heart tripped as she thought she watched her father and Trey.
But no, though the resemblance struck hard, she watched Collin with his longtime friend, Deuce.
Deuce with his hair jet-black, no glasses over those deep blue eyes. He wore a sweater nearly as deeply blue, and smiled Trey’s smile as he moved his bishop.
“Get out of that one.”
“Oh, I will.”
But Collin sat back first, sipped a whiskey as Deuce did the same. “How does it feel, old married man, to start planning a nursery?”
“Terrifying. Wonderful. And right back to terrifying.”
“How’s Corrine doing?”
“Still queasy most mornings, but they say that’ll ease up. It’s early days.” He pointed at Collin. “Other than my parents, hers, you’re the only one in this loop for now.”
“If I don’t know how to keep a secret, who does?”
“That’s God’s truth. All those years ago, sneaking in here as kids. If your grandmother had found out, our asses would’ve been in matching slings.”
“But she didn’t. And you were the only one who knew I planned to do just what I’m doing, since she no longer has a say in it. Live my life here. We keep each other’s secrets.”
“We do, always have.”
Collin moved his rook, and with a nod, Deuce studied the board.
“You think I don’t see that. But I do. You haven’t mentioned plans for your next trip.”
“I’d been thinking about talking you and Corrine into joining me for a trip to Ireland this summer. Your family homeplace. But now…”
“Now, with a baby coming? I think Corrine and I stay closer to home.”
“I might do the same. I’ve got plenty of company.”
“They’re quiet tonight.”
“Oh, I expect my night music later. Plenty of that during the day, too.”
“Does your in-house DJ still favor rock?”
“They do.”
Deuce moved the next piece.
His hand still on the knight. The flames in the hearth froze in place. The music stopped.
And Collin turned toward Sonya, smiled.
“Trey looks so like him, doesn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“We sat here like this countless times over the years, Deuce and I. No one ever had a better friend than I in Deuce Doyle. Thick and thin, he was there for me, always. You understand that bond.”
“Yes. You…”
“Look like your father. I wish I’d known him better.”
“Better?”
“We met, in a way. Through the mirror. As a child I thought of him as my imaginary friend. And later, a kind of dream. When I learned, from Deuce, he was real, that I had a brother, my twin, a mother who’d loved and wanted me, it was too late.”
It no longer struck Sonya as odd she’d have a conversation with someone who’d died before she’d known he’d existed.
And there were things she wanted to say.
“I’m sorry. I think—I really believe—you’d have been there for each other, too. So I’m sorry for both of you.”
“So am I. It’s something that can’t be changed. This night, with Deuce, was just before I met Johanna. I’d known love. It sits across from me here, but I’d never known what it was to love a woman with every fiber, every thought, every breath, and to be loved by her.”
“She was beautiful. I don’t just mean physically. The way Corrine talks about her, I know she was beautiful.”
“Oh, she was. My life changed with that love, and changed again when I lost her.”
She heard the wistfulness in his words, and still with it, the grief for what might have been.
“Deuce, Corrine, Ace, Paula, then Trey, Anna, Owen. They were here for me, always. Others, too, but those formed the core, the heart of my family.”
“They’re still here for you.”
“That’s true, isn’t it?” His face softened with a smile. “In so many ways, I lived a fortunate life. You’re my brother’s daughter. I want to tell you, I didn’t know the full extent of the danger here. Dobbs never troubled me, or not enough to worry me. If I’d known…”
He trailed off, shook his head. “I’m not sure what I’d have done. I couldn’t share this with my brother. The manor, the business, all I inherited should have been half his.”
“He had a good life in Boston, a fortunate life. He loved, and was loved.”
“Yes, and that dulls the sting. I wanted you to have all of this. I needed you to, and felt absolutely certain, blood kin or not, you were the right choice. Know that I was proud of you, from a distance.”
She started to take a step forward, but felt, strongly, she couldn’t. Shouldn’t.
“Why from a distance?”
“You had that good life. Weighed with grief, for my Johanna, for the brother taken from me, for all of it, I felt inadequate, intrusive, and cowardly.” He looked toward the fire a moment, then back at her. “A mistake I hope you’ll forgive.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m grateful, beyond words grateful. I love the manor, and did from the minute I saw it. I love knowing I have more family, and the history of that family. You gave me an incredible gift.”
“And a burden with it.”
“A responsibility,” she corrected. “But … is there anything you can tell me—the rings—how to find them? How to get them? How to stop Dobbs?”
“I don’t know the answers. The portraits … something, but I don’t know.”
“The portraits of the brides. You and Dad painted them. When?”
He shook his head. “In dreams. It feels like dreaming. I can’t stay much longer. I haven’t been able to show you, speak with you this way before.”
She saw frustration now as he lifted his hands. “It seems to me death brings as many questions as it does answers. I think, I can’t know, it takes time to come like this.”
“Johanna might know. Can you ask her?”
Grief filled his eyes. “I can’t. We can’t be together.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The curse, the goddamn curse. It must be. At times I can sense her, almost feel her. I think I hear her voice, but I can’t find her, or see her clearly, or touch her. It’s a kind of torture. She stands in the way. Dobbs stands in the way.
“So much to ask of you, my brother’s only child. Break the curse, Sonya. Find a way. You’re the hope, the key, the answer.”
The fire snapped to life, Jon Bon Jovi sang “Wanted Dead or Alive.”
Deuce lifted his hand from his knight, grinned at Collin. “Checkmate.”
Collin stared, cursed, laughed. “Well, damn it.”
And they vanished.
Sonya stood a moment, fingers pressed to her eyes.
Then she went back to her desk, sat, and wrote it all out.
“Clover, are you with Charlie? Can you be with Charlie?”
Clover went back to Carole King. “So Far Away.”
“Oh God, that’s so cruel. And that’s the damn point, isn’t it?”
She went downstairs. She needed to get out, get the air, think. But stopped by the music room.
“The portraits—two to go—but the portraits are part of the answer. The rings are in the portraits.”
She walked over, touched the ring on Johanna’s finger.
“Yeah, okay, silly to think I could just take it out of the canvas. But then again, still two to go. Maybe when they’re all here?”
She backtracked, went up to Cleo’s studio, opened the closet.
Felt her hope drop.
“Not yet. What the hell are you waiting for?”
As she closed the door, Dobbs slammed furniture in the Gold Room.
“Oh, bite me.”
She walked to the curved windows, looked out at sea and sky. Yes, a perfect day, and she’d go out and absorb just that.
As she turned, she noticed the open sketchbook on Cleo’s desk, and the figures of a hulking mass of a man, the smiling face. A handsome face until you really looked. Then? Everything about it just a little off, as if it was still being formed. And what it would become would not be handsome.
And when you really looked, it had spider legs crawling down your back.
“Creepy. Well-done creepy.” She glanced back at the covered canvas. “Whatever that is, I bet it’s not.”
She walked down, and out the front door. The breeze blew; the waves crashed. Boats plied the water under sunshine and a scatter of pretty white clouds.
Fingering the stone in her pocket, Sonya sat on the seawall, and just let herself be.
Before long Yoda raced around to her, the ball clutched in his mouth. The cat gave a leap and took her place on the wall.
“Jack didn’t wear you out? Did he send you around because he thought I needed that happy face?”
She crouched down, petted him, rubbed his belly when he rolled it up in ecstasy.
“Well, he was right. It’s just what I needed.”
She took the ball, tossed it. While Yoda chased it down, Sonya reached out, stroked the cat, who undulated her body in approval of the attention.
She threw the ball until her arm ached.
“That’s it for the day. Everybody, inside. Time for a snack.”
When she reached the kitchen, the dog and cat treats waited on the counter.
“I’m on it, Jack.”
She doled them out, made herself half a PB and J along with some fat purple grapes. After refreshing her water bottle, she took it all upstairs.
She could get another couple hours in, maybe a little more, before Cleo came back with groceries.
She picked up where she’d left off, but ten minutes later admitted she couldn’t focus on work. Unfocused, work suffered, so she set it aside.
Instead, she pulled out a sketchbook and began to draw.
Two hours later, she looked up, blinking, as Yoda yipped and ran downstairs. A little surprised at herself, she studied the sketch.
She took the book down, set it on the table in the foyer, then went out to help Cleo.
“Tell me you got out and grabbed some of this day!”
“I did. My arm’s rubber from tossing Yoda the ball. How was the sail?”
“Glorious. I ran into John Dee at the marina. He was doing some work down there. He sends his best. We’re having those pork chops,” she continued as they carried bags into the house. “The green beans I picked up at the farmer’s market, along with smashed red potatoes.”
“Smashed?”
“I wanted to try something new to me, and they look like fun. I’ll get the last of them. You start putting things away. Then I call glass of wine time.”
“I hear you.”
Sonya did her duty. She didn’t know why Cleo bought eggs when they had nearly a dozen, but she didn’t question the cook.
Cleo came back with the last of the bags, and Sonya’s sketchbook.
“Have you been sketching? I didn’t open it, but it was right there.”
“I have, and I’ll show and tell over that wine.”
“Pour that wine. I’ve got this. Good workday?”
“Yes, very good. And more.”
“Dobbs?”
“Barely a peep. Only when I went up to check the closet for Catherine. Nothing. But I saw the sketch on your desk. Very creepy. Creepy in an ‘am I really seeing that?’ way.”
“It’s coming along. All right. Show and tell.”
“On the deck? Perfect day’s moved to perfect evening.”
They went out, sat. After taking a sip of wine, Sonya set the glass aside. She opened the book, handed it to Cleo.
“This is … Is this that room where Owen dreamed about playing chess with Collin?”
“Yeah.”
“And this is Collin. Our-age Collin. With … Deuce. It’s Deuce Doyle, isn’t it?”
“Again, yeah.”
“Okay, first, I’m going to say this is wonderful. You can see the bond like it’s alive. A winter’s night, two friends together over whiskey and chess, light snow, fire burning. Cozy room, lamplit. Beautiful.”
Now she looked at Sonya.
“You saw this?”
“One more yeah. I saw them playing chess, talking. And like what happened before, it all went still. Collin spoke to me. We spoke to each other. It was sad and sweet and, well, lovely in its way. We would have liked him, Cleo.”
Cleo gave her hand a squeeze. “Tell me.”