Passions Page 8

  Then there was the warmth that seared her bones when he touched her. How her heart and blood had raced as he’d carried her into the cabin and up the stairs. It was all a jumble of words and feelings, but there was no mistaking what happened.

  Chloe pushed herself up and looked around for her rescuer, but he was nowhere to be seen. Taking strength from the drive to find answers, she swiveled her body out of bed and bounded down the stairs, feeling more fit than ever despite her fall.

  She didn’t find the man downstairs, either; not a single sign of him. Chloe remembered when she first saw him coming out of the back door onto the deck, but the door was locked tight. Although she had a feeling that nothing was amiss, she checked around the house anyway.

  Everything was in order, nothing was missing – save for Chloe’s sanity. Standing in the living room, she gazed around mystified as she reached up to comb her hair back from her face with her fingers.

  She found the strands to be caked with oil and sprinkles of dirt. She even found a twig or two stuck in her hair behind her head. Looking down, Chloe realized she was also still wearing her now dirt-stained sweater and torn jeans.

  A hot shower and some clean clothes would be good, but how could she go on as normal after what happened the night before? A handsome stranger had whisked her off her feet, and her ankle was miraculously healed without the need for modern medical equipment.

  Outside, the cabin seemed normal. Birds sang, the sun was beaming down, and the air inside the cabin was pleasantly cool. But within Chloe raged a panic, and combined with everything else from the past few days, it threatened to swallow her up completely.

  Her throat tightened as desperate tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Who was the man, really? Was it Gavin, her ghost from England? Or was it some stranger who had broken into her home and then happened to help her back up the hill? Had she imagined the entire thing? But that didn’t explain her dirty and disheveled state.

  None of it made sense, not until she noticed the new note sitting on top of her computer.

  It was the one bit of familiarity that Chloe needed right now. It didn’t matter if the words were comforting or chiding, but coming from Gavin, they would be welcome nonetheless.

  Perhaps Gavin saw the stranger lurking about her cabin. What if Gavin was the reason that the stranger was no longer here? How heroic of her ghost to have frightened away her rescuer to protect her.

  But as Chloe’s eyes drank in the letter, she began to realize that this was far from the truth.

  My Dearest Chloe,

  I hope your ankle is feeling better. I apologize if I frightened you last night. I hadn’t expected to find you sitting outside in such a manner. In any other case, I would have passed on and avoided confrontation at all costs. But I could see you were in distress, and I couldn’t ignore you.

  I also apologize if carrying you upstairs was a little too untoward. As I said last night, it was more prudent to carry you rather than act as your crutch.

  Let me encourage you to spend the day recuperating from your injury by writing. I am eager to read more. You truly are a talented writer. I hope you know that.

  Always at your service,

  Gavin.

  Chloe’s shaking hands made the yellow notepad paper crackle from the strain. Gavin was the one who rescued her. But, that couldn’t be possible. Gavin was a ghost, and the man who came to her aid the night before was anything but a ghost. He was real, solid, warm, everything that a ghost should not be.

  She had always imagined that a ghost would be transparent and perhaps emit a glowing aura of light or mist. She didn’t expect a bulbous headed mass like Casper, but she certainly didn’t expect what approached her from the shadows last night.

  She read the letter over and over again, searching for any hint that Gavin only witnessed the man carrying her up the hill. But it was plain as the black ink in front of her eyes that Gavin, her English pre-revolutionary ghost, had been the same man who scooped her up into his arms like a small child and carried her effortlessly up to her room and laid her in bed. How she wished she could remember more.

  The idea was mind shattering. Her whole preconception of ghosts and everything mythological had been systematically blown out of the water. If ghosts could present themselves as tangible and as real as people, there was no telling who was a ghost and who was not anymore.

  Chloe didn’t know where to begin to process everything she had discovered, nor did she want to. A hot shower was looking more and more appealing now; that and a cup of very strong coffee.

  After standing in the shower until the water ran frigid cold, Chloe dried her thick hair as best as she knew how without a blow dryer, then slipped into her flannel pajamas and warm socks.

  With last night washed away, she walked lightly back downstairs to brew her usual pot of coffee even though it was very late in the morning. Whilst waiting, she looked down at the clutter of family photos on the coffee table. Images of her mother, aunt, and grandparents gleamed back up at her with bright smiles. If only she could return the gesture.

  Life was not turning out to be as simple as she would have liked. Moving into the middle of nowhere to seek solitude was supposed to be easy. The loneliness was hard to cope with, but at least she was doing what she always wanted to.

  But Gavin was ruining it all for her; Gavin, a ghost who didn’t look like a ghost; Gavin, who seemed caring, thoughtful, and polite beyond what any contemporary man would even try to achieve. Chloe hated to admit it, but she was growing fond of him, not only for the letters but those eyes that were burned into her memory. If she ever saw him again, even if she lived to be over a century old, she would remember those eyes.

  Finally, Chloe took the time to connect the two--the Gavin that wrote to her practically every night and the Gavin who she met face to face.

  According to the land deed she found in the attic, he was from England, and the accent that was so prevalent in his voice testified to his origins. She had no photographs or sketches of Gavin for obvious reasons, but somehow it seemed to make sense that he would look so handsome and sophisticated.

  But those eyes, Chloe swooned, those eyes that so perfectly matched the evergreen leaves of the forest around the cabin. They sent her heart into palpitations and made her breath freeze in her lungs. How could such a pair of eyes belong to any being, dead or alive?

  Remembering those eyes made Chloe not only appreciate him for his sincerity but also admire him for his handsomeness.

  Just about the time the coffee pot chimed, Chloe realized she was standing on the border of being morbid. She was fantasizing about a man who had been dead for nearly three hundred years.

  She shivered and then poured her first cup, hoping that the warm liquid would fight back the odd sensations that settled in her gut like a heavy stone. But no amount of coffee would erase what happened last night. Coffee could help her in the present and maybe make her future look a little better, but it couldn’t change the past.

  With hesitant hands, Chloe unlocked the back door. The thought came to mind that Gavin had touched this doorknob, and she shivered again before stepping out onto the deck. As a matter of fact, Gavin had probably been everywhere in the cabin, touched almost everything in some way or another. She knew that she was sharing her house now, but it became a little more real each time she thought too much about it.

  Chloe leaned against the deck railing and sipped her coffee, feeling its rejuvenating effects already as she gazed out into the wilderness. She could see the creek down below the hill, its waters flowing as they had for ages.

  Chloe wondered if the creek had been there when Gavin was alive. Did he enjoy watching its glittering ripples too? Was that why he built his cabin here instead of in the valley?

  Then she began to wonder something she hadn’t thought about before. How did Gavin die? It was obvious that he was dead. No one could live forever. But what caused him to be a ghost?

  Perhaps he had drowned in the cr
eek. If the water level was higher back then, it wasn’t hard to conceive of a grown man drowning. Maybe that was why he had such pale skin.

  Chloe was surprised her thoughts had taken such a macabre turn over the last few days. Seeing obvious proof that ghosts were real had surely changed her way of thinking.

  Was this what led to her aunt’s downfall? Rosie had said she talked about Gavin a lot. Maybe it was an obsession with the ghost that led her to insanity. It was not a far-fetched idea to Chloe. She had felt her own grip on sanity weaken since she moved into the mountains.

  Chloe knew probing Rosie for answers might seem too conspicuous. Plus, she wouldn’t see the older woman for another week until the next Bridge night.

  But there was one other person she could turn to for answers; someone who knew her aunt better than anyone else in the world.

  She hadn’t spoken to her mother in weeks.

  Chloe’s parents were traveling the country in the RV they bought a few years ago. After Mary Anne checked into the assisted living home, and Chloe seemed to have dropped off the face of the planet, it only made sense for them to spend their retirement years seeing the North American continent.

  Sometimes, their phones were not in service, and most of the time, her mother would let her know by giving her one last call before hitting that dead zone where no one could be reached. But that hadn’t happened in a while.

  Taking a chance, Chloe finished off her coffee and went back inside to fetch her cell phone from upstairs. It’d been sitting there for days, constantly charging even though it had a full battery.

  Chloe, unlike most adults her age, chose not to spend all her time with her eyes glued to her phone, browsing through social media and texting friends. Who did she have to talk to anyway? She had no one to call or text, no one to reach out to besides her parents who were off living their second childhood.

  She flopped down on her bed and dialed her mother. Her fingers splayed out over the soft fabric, and she wondered if Gavin had ever once lain in this bed or sat on the edge to watch her sleep. A cold wave washed over her, and she withdrew her hand to rest it on her stomach.

  After a few rings, Chloe heard the willowy voice of her mother answer, “Hello?”

  “Hey, mom. It’s me.”

  There was a bit of rustling in the background as if her mother were standing up. “Hey, honey! How have you been? I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  Chloe played with a strand of damp hair as she talked. “I’ve been alright,” she lied. “I finally got all of Aunt Mary Anne’s affairs taken care of.”

  “Well, that’s good.” There was a twinge of sadness in her mother’s words. Chloe knew that she was still taking her sister’s death hard. She hadn’t been able to attend the funeral because they were over three thousand miles away in Washington at the time. Not only that, but her mother was the last living member of their family apart from Chloe. It was a sobering thought to think that she was all alone now. Chloe could identify.

  “Did I tell you I’m living in the cabin now?”

  Her mother gasped in delighted surprise. “No, you didn’t!” she exclaimed. “How is it? Did the real estate company keep it in good condition?”

  Chloe could have told her all about the changes they had made to the porch, the walkway, the kitchen interior, and furniture. “It looks great. No leaks, no damage. They even installed new locks.”

  “I’m glad they changed your locks. Those old iron ones weren’t safe at all. Your aunt liked them, but I always thought they were too flimsy. And Carter Lake, how’s that old town looking?”

  Chloe told her all about the old gas station and Main Street, the grocery store, and especially Bob and Rosie.

  “Sounds like it hasn’t changed too much. That’s a good thing. Your father and I drive past these old towns that have been totally deserted, and it’s a shame. And then we stop in these big cities that look like they were once boomtowns with old housing districts, and we talk about how horrible it is that the modern age has destroyed these old relics. Why can’t people just keep things the same?”

  Chloe had to admire her mother’s viewpoints. She didn’t share them to such an extreme because she was sorely missing the convenience of high-speed internet, but she did hate it when old historic landmarks were torn down to make way for shopping malls. If people forgot where they came from, they would lose their future as well. Any philosopher would say the same.

  “I don’t know, mom. But the cabin looks great.”

  “I’m glad. We’re making our way back east and we’ll stop by. We’ll probably have to get a rental car to go up the mountain, though. The RV won’t make it.”

  Chloe shook her head as if her mother could actually see her. “No, I’ll come down and get you. There’s a little hotel you can stay in, I think, and I can pick you guys up there.”

  “Is your car big enough?”

  “I actually traded my car in for a jeep. The guy at the hardware store was selling his.”

  “Oh! Was it Bobby? He’s so sweet. So is his wife. We knew their family growing up.”

  And there was the wonderful part about living in a small town; everyone knew each other.

  “Yeah, his wife wanted a smaller vehicle, so we traded. I like the jeep. It runs well.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad.”

  A long pause of silence passed on, and Chloe was finally able to distinguish the slight rustling in the background. Her mother was folding clothes. It was familiar from her childhood, something she heard every day growing up.

  Chloe took a moment and closed her eyes, envisioning her mother methodically folding shirts and pants while propping the phone between her ear and shoulder. It was soothing, and all she wanted to do was listen to that rhythmic sound all day.

  “You ok, baby?” her mother asked, a bit of her southern drawl leaking out.

  “Yep. I’m good. This cabin just has me thinking about Aunt Mary Anne a lot.”

  Her mother sighed. “I know. There are a lot of memories there, huh?”

  “I kind of wish there were more.”

  “I know, baby. But that’s just the way it goes sometimes. We can’t turn back the clock and do things we wish we had done.”

  “Or stop ourselves from doing things we wish we hadn’t done,” Chloe added thoughtfully. Lord knows, she had plenty of regrets.

  “How are you holding up in that department?” her mother asked. She’d always been able to see past Chloe’s cryptic remarks.

  She was the first person to pick up on what was really going on when the fallout happened. And she was the one to convince Chloe to make the changes she needed for her own emotional health. Then, Aunt Mary Anne passed, and everything seemed to fall into place. It was the right piece of advice that came at the right time.

  Chloe heaved a heavy sigh and nodded, mostly to herself. “I’m alright. It’s not near as hard as I thought it would be. Getting away from Atlanta really helped.”

  “I told you about how your father wants to skin Brent alive, right?”

  Chloe giggled despite herself. “Yes, you told me.”

  “And he can do it too.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Chloe’s father loved to hunt. Her parents met back when they were teenagers in Carter Lake. At the time, he could skin a buck in record time while leaving very little mess behind. It was the kind of thing that a country boy could be proud of, and Chloe knew her father was itching to break out his set of knives again, especially after word leaked out about what Brent had done to her.

  “I have something to ask you,” Chloe continued, almost forgetting why they were on the phone in the first place. “It’s about Aunt Mary Anne. What happened to her? I mean, I remember when I was little we would come up here all the time, and then, all of the sudden, we stopped.”

  “I told you. Your aunt was too busy.”

  “I don’t buy that, mom.” Chloe did her best to not sound too offensive. She simply wanted the truth. “I heard
you talking with dad about how she was going crazy.”

  The sound of folding clothes stopped, and her mother sat down heavily on the side of the bed. Chloe could hear the squeaky springs groan under her weight. “Listen, your aunt wasn’t crazy; she just was going through some things and getting older. When people get older, they start to have problems remembering things, and sometimes, they make up stuff. And that’s what happened to your aunt.”

  Her mother’s tone was level as if she were giving a lecture about something mundane. But Chloe could pick up a tremor of emotion. It told her that there was no way to logically explain away what her mother witnessed over the years. It couldn’t have been easy to listen to your own flesh and blood wilting in old age.

  “Like dementia or Alzheimer’s?” Chloe asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “So what was she saying?”

  Her mother took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Lots of things. She talked about how staying alone in the cabin was becoming hard. She wanted us to move in with her, but with your father’s work, it just wasn’t going to happen. She called constantly, and we visited all the time. I thought she was just lonely. She never married, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “But then she was started to sound scared over the phone sometimes. Like late at night, she thought someone was watching her, and stuff was going missing. I remember that happening when we were growing up, but never to the degree that she described. Again, I thought she was just lonely and was trying to get us to visit more by making stuff up. Guilt trips never worked on me, anyway.”

  “You said those things happened when you were growing up?”

  “Oh yeah, all the time. My mother, your grandmother, would lose things all the time. Mostly, it was books. They always showed back up in the oddest places later on. And your grandfather, bless his heart, had clothes go missing.”

  “Clothes?” Chloe asked laughingly.