Chapter 11
Jonathan’s house was one of those gothic mini-mansions at the top of the highest hill overlooking the bay. When we pulled through the huge iron gates, I was taken with its romantic aura. The grounds surrounding the house were dark and fragrant with large circles of damp, colorful flowers glowing under each driveway lantern leading to the house.
When Jonathan’s Audi SUV curved around the circular drive in front of the huge wooden double doors, I stared in disbelief. I’d lived below this neighborhood my entire life, looking up toward the bluffs where these big houses hung precariously over the cliffs, never once imagining I, Becka Marie Clemmons, would be invited as a personal guest to stay in one.
“It’s a little much, I know,” Jonathan said, interrupting my fantasy. “I inherited it from my grandfather. He was quite eccentric.”
He kept his eyes on mine as I listened with great interest to the first real piece of family history he’d shared.
“It’s absolutely beautiful. I can’t wait to see it in the daylight.” I reached to grab my bag. Jonathan took the bag from my hand then helped me out of the car with the other.
“Let’s get inside. The rain is really starting to come down.” A huge drop of the very same struck me right on top of the head with its chilly wetness.
The front door was unlocked, just as Silvy had always left hers. The smell of expensive cigar and honeysuckle hung in the air when he opened the door. The circular marble entry was cream with gray lines weaving through it like a drunken spider’s web. Ornate linen wall hangings covered the blank spaces between the crushed velvet curtains draping on either side of the etched pane windows facing the front grounds. The ceiling reached a good twenty-five feet, giving ample space for the staircase and the second-floor landing.
Past the entry lay what I figured was the room where Jonathan’s family gathered for the holidays. Now it held damask-upholstered furniture in shades of green and antique gold, accented softly with deep rose.
“Come on in,” he coaxed after setting my bag near the base of the stairwell, “let’s see if my father is still awake. He’ll want to say hello.” We walked through the Christmas room, past the most incredible marble fireplace I’d ever seen, and in through a tall, carved, wooden door leading into a library befitting the White House.
Hardback books lined the fifteen-foot walls from floor to ceiling, some protected behind beveled glass. Huge, brown leather couches faced one another in front of a roaring fire, separated by a large oval coffee table with a thick granite top. Two separate full-size masculine desks bookended the room, each obviously housing a different resident.
Jonathan’s was the larger of the two. I knew it was his by the simple look of it. Stacks of paper, multicolored book tags, and several gold bound books were scattered over the glass-covered mahogany. An expensive desk pad rimmed with alligator skin was almost lost under the mess of it.
The opposite desk had a similar dark grain, but the carvings were more ornate. Every paper was in a specifically marked brass tray. A single Montblanc pen stood at the ready in its holder, pointing toward the crystal and brass chandelier hanging from the pounded-copper ceiling above.
“Ah, you’ve brought us a guest, at last?” I recognized Nathan Parker’s articulate baritone the first second I heard it. When I turned, he stood before me dressed similar to the first day I’d met him. An impeccably tailored three-piece suit, buttoned collar shirt, and an elegant silk tie perfectly Windsor knotted around his neck. He held a snifter of what I believed to be brandy in one hand and an unlit cigar in the other.
“Becka, darling. I’m so glad to see you.” He smiled his aristocratic smile, and then pretended to flick ashes from the end of the unlit cigar. “I rarely smoke these things, I just like the way they look in my hand.”
Jonathan laughed behind us. I watched Nathan to see if he was kidding me. I chose to ignore the cigar altogether, rather than falling victim to their private joke. “Nathan,” I semi-bowed, feeling it the right thing to do. “It’s nice to see you again.”
He placed his snifter on the nearest Egyptian inlaid side table and surprised me with a warm, welcoming embrace. “I’m so sorry about your mother, Becka. She seemed to be a very fine lady.” He patted my damp shoulder and rubbed his hand over a tiny spot on my back before letting me go.
When I laid my face against his shoulder, it was obvious that he indeed smoked those cigars, and I wanted to joke about that instead of talk about my mother’s passing. It was an easier conversation to be sure. After considering it for a nanosecond, I decided to forego teasing him while he was trying to show me sympathy. “She was a very good person, Nathan. I miss her a great deal.” For the first time I could talk about missing my mother without dissolving into tears. She’d be proud of my progress.
“Becka will be staying with us for a few days, Father,” Jonathan said, rescuing me. “She’ll be in my room.”
Instantly, I moved away from his father, too embarrassed to speak. Nathan just smiled and said how glad he was to hear that. “It’s about time I had someone interesting to talk to,” he winked, never once making me feel awkward for turning various shades of red.
“I’ll show you around a little, so you know where everything is,” Jonathan said. “Then I’m gonna go.”
“You’re leaving her alone, son? That doesn’t seem the proper thing to do with such a beautiful woman.”
“I’ll expect you to behave yourself and make sure she feels at home, Father. I’ve something to take care of. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He winked at his father and took me by the hand, guiding me away from the warmth of the fire and his father’s sweet energy.
“Becka, I’ll be right down here if you need anything—don’t hesitate to ask. Just make yourself at home.” Nathan waved as Jonathan led me away, striking a long fireplace match to his cigar.
Jonathan showed me the serving kitchen and the best refrigerator to raid. I noticed a six-pack of Mountain Dew in the door and squinted at him in question.
“We keep a little bit of everything around in case someone visits.”
“You get a lot of visitors, do ya?”
“You’re the first one in years to stay in my room, if that answers your question.”
“So, there’ve been a lot of visitors that have stayed in your room?” I persisted, somehow needing to believe I was special.
“Only one, and she didn’t stay the whole night.”
“She must have been pretty special to get up there in the first place.”
“Becka,” he kissed my forehead, “she was the neighbor’s cat! God, now I sound pathetic.” He grabbed a soda and handed it to me, heading the back way to his room when I stopped him and pulled him to me.
“I don’t think it’s pathetic. I’ve never had another man in my place either.” I kissed him then, in the middle of the breezeway between the kitchen and the mud room. I wanted to drop the soda and pull my legs up around his waist, but I remembered his father being awake in the house, so I desisted.
“Let me show you to your room,” he said, his words coming out almost inside of my mouth.
I followed two steps behind, watching the way his perfect ass moved in his jeans. It took every bit of my reserve to keep from putting my hands in the pockets and squeezing.
We climbed dozens of stairs and passed five doors before reaching Jonathan’s room. When I first walked into the space, I felt like I’d walked into an old movie by the way the velvets draped from the windows sheltered the antique European furniture from the elements.
The king-sized bed was made of twisted iron, canopied with cream linen gauze to soften the artsy edges of the ornate leaves. Near the large window, overlooking the drive, sat a comfortable-looking armchair with an overhanging antique reading lamp much like my own. The three-tiered side table next to the chair was littered with magazines and various scribbles taken on notepad pages. Three book-marked hardbacks were stacked next to a spent glass of red wine and a crumpled M&M wrapper.
“It’s a little messy now, but I’ll have it tidied in a minute.” He dropped my bag next to the door and started around the room, picking up a rumpled shirt at the end of the unmade bed and pulling the coverlet up over the pillow still indented from a good night’s sleep.
“Jonathan, don’t. Please. I prefer it this way.” I pulled the coverlet back to see a single goose down pillow scrunched two feet below the headboard. I could visualize him scooting lower and lower in the bed as he slept, searching desperately for a new cool spot for his foot.
“Cut it out,” he said, watching me assess his sleeping habits. He shook his head and laughed at my odd curiosity before heading into the adjoining bathroom to brush his teeth.
The wall to wall carpet was somewhat updated from the bare hardwood of the downstairs. I slipped my shoes off, wanting to feel the soft cut of the cream-colored Berber between my toes. I glided around until static worked its way into my hands.
Jonathan watched me in the reflection of the mirror. Everything smelled of him. The enticing book smell mixed with his own manly scent was everywhere around me and was intoxicating.
“The towels are here in the cabinet.” He wiped his fresh spearmint mouth on a hand-towel as he pointed to where several others could be found. They were thick terry, blue with a white stripe, and they were his, making them interesting. His bathroom was floored in the same cream marble as the entry. When I stepped around the corner, I saw that same marble continued up the contours of the wall, lining the shower and area around the sunken bathtub. Above the tub, a round window gave a view of stars peeking through the parting rain clouds.
“This bathroom is pretty sexy for you to have kept it all to yourself all this time.” I walked the distance from the doorway, finding a seat at the edge of the tub, feeling the soft cushion of the lambskin area rug beneath my feet.
“It’s sexy now,” Jonathan retorted, giving me that sensual look I’d come to love. He pulled his shirt over his head and stood in front of me, his crotch a foot from my face. “Would you like to soak?”
I was shaking my head yes, but it was more for what stood in front of me than the idea of a bath, my eyes never leaving the rounded bulge on his button-down fly. His belly button sunk into a light feathering of sandy brown hair leading down and out of sight to a place I longed to touch.
“You’re definitely thinking impure thoughts.” He leaned down and kissed me but not in the passionate way he knew would make me crazy. “I’d love to stay and take care of that, but I should get back to your place, don’t you think?” He’d done it. He’d said the only thing that would let him leave this room with his clothes still on his body.
Jonathan plugged the tub and squirted a lavender smelling soap into the warm running water. As it filled, he sat next to me, swishing his hand in the water to create the most wonderful smelling bubbles.
“Let me help you.” He stood and pulled me to my feet. For the second time tonight, he unzipped my sweatshirt and dropped it to the floor, running his hands over my breasts, making his way to the drawstring of my pants. When they too dropped, he held me to his bare chest just long enough to have me wanting him again. Then he helped me ease into the warm, luxurious water and kissed the top of my head as I sighed.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” he said, dragging a clean T-shirt over his head. “You behave yourself.” He winked then and left the room. I melted into the water.
~ ~ ~
I soaked until I couldn’t stand the wrinkle of my skin. From behind the door, I retrieved Jonathan’s huge navy-blue terry cloth robe and sunk my still damp body into it. I held the collar to my face, smelling him, wanting him to be here with me. He’d only been gone an hour, and already I missed him.
In the mirror, I stared at a completely different woman than I’d ever seen before. This woman seemed calm and confident and certainly more satisfied. She seemed whole. I couldn’t explain why all these things had happened, but I was grateful that Jonathan had awakened me.
I thought then of Silvy and wondered what she’d think of all the events happening—Annie and Richie possibly becoming parents together, Steven, the doting husband, looking for revenge, and Jonathan and I discovering what could possibly be the most miraculous thing of all. Could we really be star-crossed lovers following one another through the continuum of time? It was a lot to take in.
It was midnight in the Parker home, and I was the snooping guest. I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t help myself. Everything in this room was put there by the man I loved, and I still had no idea of his motivation. For instance, why this iron bed? It was beautiful, no doubt, it was just—I don’t know, big and iron. I grinned to myself thinking of the possibilities of having such a huge playpen. I was already getting frustrated wearing his smell all over my body, much less visualizing wicked, wonderful things like making love to my soul mate in his gothic mansion.
Magazines. What kinds of magazines did he like to read? I sat down in his chair and thumbed through the covers. Skeptic, Hiking America, Forbes, and Oui. Now this was a well-rounded man.
I didn’t allow myself to open his little notebook I spied on the second shelf of the side table, but I did peek at the scribbles on the sheets at the top of the pile. Nothing too interesting, really, just reminders of things to do. He was a list maker just like me. A smile spread across my face with that discovery.
The hardbacks were all written about reincarnation and soul mates. They were not antique books as I first assumed. Instead, they’d been stripped of their colorful paper covers, revealing the canvas binding in shades of dark green and burgundy with the titles and author’s names in gold and black lettering. Jonathan must have something against dust covers because they were missing from all the books I’d seen so far.
His closet revealed little except for his affinity for blue slacks and white shirts. The high shelf held five pairs of hiking boots, each for a different terrain. A real hiker, I thought, I like that. Then I recognized the very boot which gave me the bloody lip, and I flushed with embarrassment all over again.
At the opposite side of the bed, there were two small jeweled picture frames poised beneath the bedside lamp. In the first Jonathan had his arms wrapped around a more feminine version of himself. Obviously, this was a sister I’d heard little about. I made a mental note to ask about her.
The other frame held an older photo of a family of four. I recognized a younger Nathan, and the two kids were obviously Jonathan and his sister, but the woman was mysterious looking. She had platinum blonde hair with eyes so light they were almost translucent in color. Her skin was pale as porcelain, but not quite that cold. Her smile looked painted on. While the others seemed genuinely happy and caring toward one another, she looked lost, even in the bosom of her family.
Suddenly I felt sorry for Jonathan. His father was so warm and loving, I assumed he’d been raised in the comfort of a close, loving family as I had been. From her looks alone, his mother seemed distant and sad. I wanted to know more about her, as well as the sister, but I’d wait for Jonathan to tell me in his own time.
I placed the photos back as they were and crawled into Jonathan’s bed, feeling the warm embrace of his chenille blankets protecting my body.
~ ~ ~
I lay in that big iron bed for a good thirty minutes, but sleep would simply not come. I couldn’t stop worrying about what might be happening with Rich and Jonathan. The caffeine from the Mountain Dew probably didn’t help either. I’d peed twice, each time getting distracted by some other little something that was part of Jonathan’s daily routine. His razor, for instance, was a twin blade, sleek, silver model with the built in anti-nick guard. I wasn’t sure why I found this so interesting, but I did.
Once I gave up on getting any sleep, I started wandering about the room, picking up the phone from the bedside table, dialing my apartment, and then hanging up before it had a chance to ring. I didn’t want to wake them, if they were actually getting to sleep.
I slipped on Jonathan’s huge sheep-skin slippers that I found tucked at the foot of the bed and pulled his robe tight over my chilled skin. His intoxicating scent wafted from the collar once again. “Hmmmm, heaven.” The words escaped before I could catch them. Feeling slightly embarrassed and aroused at the same time, I shook it off and set out to find something to eat. Food always helped me sleep. I was on a mission.
The heavy wooden door creaked when it opened to the landing, making me freeze in place. I crept quietly down the stairs and over the cold marble entry. The back way to the refrigerator was so dark I had to feel my way past the pantry door and cutting board at the far end of the kitchen.
The subzero refrigerator door was heavy with condiments and soda. I reached for another soda, thought better of it, and grabbed a bottle of water instead. I twisted off a handful of ruby grapes perched atop a bowl of chilled fruit, and I closed the door with my behind. The grapes were almost too sweet when I plucked one from the bunch with my front teeth.
In the darkness, the house seemed more mysterious than spooky, but I wasn’t afraid. Not much could scare me anymore. Silvy may have been murdered by a hit and run driver. Steven may be after Rich and Jonathan with a crowbar, and I was alone in a strange house with a sweet, odd old man who, from the looks of the light under the library door, stayed awake all hours of the night. A second later, that door was opened by none other than Nathan Parker.
“Becka, darling,” he said, still wearing his suit though thankfully the tie was a bit loosened at the neck, “I thought I heard someone out here. Please come in. I was just enjoying the fire and reading a bit.”
“I see you’re a night owl.” My voice was tight from the sweetness of the grapes and from getting caught snooping.
“Ah, yes. I’m not much of a sleeper anymore. I used to need a good eight hours, but now I’m lucky to get three or four.” He held the door, so I could enter before him, and then he shut it behind us and moved toward the couches in front of the fire. “Feels so nice. I’ll miss having it when the summer comes.” He rubbed his large, never-touched-a-shovel-in-his-life hands together.
“Come and have a seat.” He pointed to the couch across from him. “Can I get you something? A brandy, perhaps?”
“Oh, no thank you. The water and these are fine.” I held up the bunch of grapes I now wished I didn’t have and gave a guilty smile for having raided the refrigerator after midnight—like some kid.
He settled back into his spot on the opposite couch and crossed his long legs. “Those rubies are the very best. Jonathan’s favorite.”
I smiled at learning another small thing, making the young Mr. Parker a tiny bit less of a mystery.
“So, couldn’t sleep?” he asked, picking up his refilled snifter, sipping at the golden fluid.
“No, I had a nap today. Jonathan probably can’t sl—” I gulped as I felt redness once again spread over my face, realizing I just as much as told his father that Jonathan and I had slept together.
Nathan placed the crystal snifter back on the coffee table and moved right along, never once giving time to my embarrassment. “So,” he said as I clenched every muscle in my body, “what would you like to know about my only son, Miss Clemmons? I’m sure you have some questions that only a father could answer.” He picked up the book he’d been reading and placed it in his lap, folding his hands together on the hard cover.
“I-I-” I stuttered, not knowing where to begin, wanting to know it all.
“First of all,” he started, as though I’d given him an exact point of reference. “My son is the best person I know, and believe me, I’ve known a lot of people in my life. He’s good and loyal and honest to a fault. He’s educated, and he’s street-smart, and when he finds something he wants, he goes after it. I’m not just a father bragging about a son—I’m a man admiring how another man conducts his life.”
I watched him speak, each word pronounced perfectly as though Nathan himself had once been an English professor. The way the fire danced over his proud face made me want to move closer, so I wouldn’t miss even one of his expressions. If this is how Jonathan would look in his senior years, then I’m definitely in for the long haul. Nathan was poised and impressive in every way, and he didn’t stop bragging about his son for over five full minutes, which I thought was admirable.
“Nathan, I think he’s pretty wonderful, too. I’m just curious how he knew . . .” I could tell he knew exactly what I was talking about, though I’d halted my question.
“The therapy.” He lifted the snifter again, which told me the subject made him a little nervous. “It was a necessary thing for Jonathan. He was such a smart little boy. He knew before we did that there was something desperately wrong. He understood somehow that at the base of everything, he was missing something. We tried to give him what he needed. We tried to be good parents.” He took a hearty swallow this time, not a tiny sip.
“Jonathan said the therapy was the only thing that helped him,” I reassured him. “You should be proud of getting him that help. Most parents would’ve feared taking their child to a regression therapist. Mine would have done it, but my parents were anything but normal.”
He smiled with caution in his eyes. “Jonathan is a strong-willed young man. Your being here is proof of that. I know that’s because he persisted until you’d listen to him. His story is a hard one to swallow for someone like me—someone who hasn’t experienced it. The idea of soul mates is so foreign to me, I don’t know. I believe him because he believes it so much himself.”
I pulled a camel-colored throw from the other end of the couch and placed it over my bare calves, needing somehow to feel protected from this blatant discussion. “Nathan, I’ve always been skeptical about the idea of reincarnation, but I can’t deny it now. I don’t understand why we’re being allowed to remember things from our past life when other people can’t.”
He picked up the book from his lap and pointed to it. “This author says that some people remember, and some don’t. She says that the more evolved souls are the ones who recognize the signs and let themselves see the clues from their past lives.”
“More evolved?”
“According to her theory, those souls who have lived a lot of lives and learned the proper lessons from each life are the ones who evolve into a higher consciousness. Those are her words, not mine.” Again, he smiled and took a sip, laying the book back down in his lap and placing his hand over it protectively.
“I certainly don’t feel more evolved,” I said. “I feel overwhelmed. It’s disconcerting the way Jonathan sees right through me and just knows me. If that’s evolved, I guess I like it.” I twisted the top off my bottle of water and drank until a gurgle hit the bottom of the upturned plastic. The grapes had since found their way into my lap, now chilling the connection of skin between my knees.
“Where did Jonathan go to college?” I asked, needing to know the man in this life, not just the last.
“Northwestern, and then Oxford for a year. He did take a year off in between his years at Northwestern to study in the Orient. I’m still not sure exactly what he studied there, but he’s been better able to take care of himself since that time.”
“Take care of himself?” I questioned.
“He’s more centered and thoughtful after being over there. He practices a special kind of martial art called Jiu-Jitsu. It’s pretty amazing to watch him go through his routines. You’ll have to ask him to show you sometime.”
I got a vision of Jonathan in white baggy pants, no shirt, barefoot, with a long black sash tied around his waist, doing crazy jumps and kicks like the guys on Kung Fu. A flush of excitement ran through me, for which I quickly drank from my bottle to cool. Then I remembered who sat across from me, and I straightened quickly and moved the conversation along.
“How did you get started in the antique book business?”
“My family has had the business for years and years. My father started it back in Chicago before he moved it out to the west coast. It started as kind of a hobby for him. He was actually in the liquor business.” He grinned an ornery grin much like his son’s, waiting for it to dawn on me that his father had been involved in the illegal alcohol trade. This family just kept getting more and more interesting.
“Ah,” I said, acknowledging with a smile. “So, your father thought it prudent to bring the business west.”
“Indeed!” Nathan was pleased.
“You have a daughter, don’t you?” I knew the answer, but I wanted to sound ignorant of it, so he would feel no pressure to share.
“Ah yes, my Vanessa. She ran off and married some European engineer and left Jonathan and me to fend for ourselves. She’s a good girl, my Vanessa. She calls every week without fail. We miss her a great deal.” He looked again into the fire with pride in his eyes. “She studied in England for a year as well. That’s where she met her husband, James. He’s a good young man, but he did steal my little girl. I’ll never forgive him for that.” He chuckled.
“Is Vanessa older or younger than Jonathan?”
“Younger by a year.”
“How long ago did she move over there?”
“It’s been nearly two years now. They actually live in France. He’s French. She absolutely loves it there. She brags about the local wines all the time. She’s very anxious to meet you.”
It shocked me that Vanessa even knew about me. “She knows about me—and Jonathan?”
“She knows how much Jonathan cares for you. They’re very close. Growing up, they talked for hours about finding their perfect partner and riding off into the sunset. Vanessa was so glad when her brother finally found you.”
Okay, this was getting too weird for me. This whole family seems to have plotted the course to finding little old me, the simple girl from the simple family with the simple little café. These people belonged with royalty or someone from a romance novel.
“Nathan, can I ask you about your wife, or is that too personal? If it is, please just say so, and we’ll move on.” I took a grape into my mouth, trying to shut off the question before it sounded worse than it already had.
“It’s not too personal at all, my dear. My wife, Claire, was a good woman.” Again, he looked into the fire.
Was? I instantly hated myself.
“I met her one day when she came into the bookstore. She was so beautiful—tall and elegant. Her voice was silky, like the voice of Marlene Dietrich. She was complaining about some water stain on one of the pages in a book and instead of heeding her irritation, I asked her out for a drink. I think she accepted because she was so surprised. We were married four months later. Jonathan was born before the year was out.”
“May I ask what happened to her?”
“Cancer. She’s been gone for over ten years now. She fought it for a long time, but it finally took her.” He looked at me then, obviously feeling a similar pain at his loss as I had with my loss of Silvy.
“I’m sorry, Nathan. I shouldn’t have asked. That was very rude of me.” I sat up, hoping to reach him, then slouched back when he didn’t respond.
“I do miss her, but when the time came, I was grateful. I hated seeing her suffer.” Then he noticed my hand stretched out toward him, and he leaned in to take it. The callus-free fingers were chilled at the tips and warm near the palm. We stayed there for a long moment before letting go.
“Was your wife from this area, then?” I asked, feeling as though he still wanted to speak of her, just not of her death.
“As a matter of fact, her family has owned a business in the area for many, many years.” He got up to refill his brandy glass just as the sound of the front door opening reached us. Jonathan’s running footsteps fell loudly on the entry tile. Nathan opened the library door just in time for his son to run through it, calling out my name.
“Becka, we’ve got to go!” he said, his breathing heavy from running. A splatter of blood oozed down the fabric of his rain dampened, white T-shirt. Instead of jumping up, I froze, feeling dread moving over me again as it had the night Silvy was hit.
“What happened?” Tears were already in my eyes when he pulled me to him.
“It’s Rich. He was up to something. He’s in the hospital, but he’s okay.”