An Ever Fixéd Mark (32 page)

She knew he wouldn’t be. She made the
decision to stay up with Didi and Tamara after Mark and Nora made
their exit. Meg disappeared with Jeff at some point. Lizzie drank
more wine even though she knew she reached her threshold. She knew
it would be distasteful to Ben and drank too much to remember when
the party ended.

She remembered the dream, even though it
lingered as fragments of the complete story. It felt… she felt the
dewy air and the unevenness of his awkward fingers. She saw the
glint of moonlight in Oliver’s dark brown eyes. She shut her eyes
to escape the glare of the bathroom light and felt the alcohol
still swirling in her brain.

She threw up again, bringing herself back to
the unpleasantness of the present. She didn’t want to have that
thought about Oliver in her head or the sensation of anything she
would want to remember about… her head spun and ached with the
dehydration. Why did she do that to herself? It was reckless… and
she was beyond reckless damaging behavior to her body. And yet… she
was sleeping with a vampire.

He took care of her. He always put her well
being first. He wanted to make her happy. Why? Why did it mean so
much to him? Why was he attached to her so completely when, by his
own admission, he tried to stay away from her? Did he try to stay
away from her simply because of Oliver? Oliver had more devotion to
that separation. Even though he had more reason to be with her. Did
Melissa Benson purge Oliver of the Lily fixation? Ben didn’t think
so. Lizzie knew he worried. Was he worried that Oliver would kill
her… or that Oliver would take her away from him?

Lizzie didn’t want Oliver. She didn’t want
another vampire in her life. She loved Ben. She was still angry
with him because he just didn’t think about things… that weren’t
important to him. That was no different than any other boyfriend…
or friend. Meg always annoyed Lizzie with her oblivion. Every
single day.

Her thoughts were a muddle. She was tired.
She was still drunk. Her body ached inside and out. Her dream and
its sensation filtered in and out of her thinking. It wasn’t real.
It couldn’t have been real. There wasn’t a carriage house at the
Fulton property. It had to be the Harris carriage house. It made
sense because Lily wouldn’t want Annie to find her sneaking about
with her sister’s boy. Lizzie was startled awake by the detail that
so easily entered her mind. In a panic she rose to her feet and
opened the bathroom door. She went to the bed, ready to shake Ben
out of his sleep. She stopped as she opened her mouth to call out
his name. She didn’t want him to know what she was thinking, what
she remembered. She didn’t want to know if the thoughts that
entered her brain so suddenly were true. She didn’t want him to
know she dreamt of kissing Oliver… and that for a few dwindling
moments, she liked it.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Lizzie set down the box of
books on the floor and pulled out a couple volumes to place on the
shelves. She readjusted the irritating tightness of her jeans. She
pulled her sweater down, annoyed with herself for sampling so much
of her cooking that week. She was nearing the end of eight weeks
and needed to get back to running regularly and eating with more
sense. She bent down and picked up a few more copies of
The Fulton Family Legacy
.

“Gerard Fulton came in here a few days ago,”
Paula entered the gift shop.

Lizzie laughed as she looked at his name on
the binding of the books she placed tightly in the vacant space.
“Did he have anything interesting to say?”

“No, but he was asking after Leslie, the
lovely girl who works at the hospital.”

“Well that’s sweet. I don’t suppose he left
me a check for the hospital, did he?” Lizzie was dissatisfied with
the shelf she filled. She pulled out the books and decided a better
facing was necessary.

“No,” Paula shook her head. “So you’ll do
the noon tour? You can take off after that.”

“Thanks. I have to go help hang cobwebs,”
Lizzie explained. “We should have done something festive in the
museum.”

“I don’t know how we could justify any
mention of Halloween in this house, Lizzie,” Paula tried to be
serious. “No matter how many times you claim there are ghosts.”

Lizzie managed another laugh to mask the
chill she gave herself. She no longer believed in ghosts. She was
afraid of memories. She half hoped her task of the day would be
restocking the gift shop and not going through the house on a tour.
Not on the day when supposedly the barrier between the living and
the dead was weakest.

She shook her head, cursing herself for that
thought when she heard the bell of the door. She finished arranging
the books to avoid seeing what tourist walked in to force her
confrontation with Lily. Then she heard a familiar voice answer
Paula’s ritual greeting.

“
Oliver,” she said almost
inaudibly as she turned around.

“Hi Lizzie,” he smiled genuinely. “How are
you?”

“I’m well,” Lizzie swallowed, aware that
Paula was looking at her. “This is Oliver, Ben’s brother.”

Lizzie could tell by Paula’s expression that
she was scanning her memory for a detail. Lizzie hoped that she
wouldn’t remember the name Oliver from the information about
Raleigh and Eloise Hutchins. “You look familiar,” Paula increased
Lizzie’s panic. Was there a picture of Oliver in that pile of
papers? “I know,” Paula answered her own question before Oliver
could explain anything. “I’ve seen a couple articles about you. You
are working on a research project with the San Francisco Museum of
Science. It’s been in all sorts of museum newsletters. It has to do
with tourism, doesn’t it?’

“Indeed,” Oliver grinned proudly, looking
briefly at Lizzie. “Actually, I’m in town to compare notes with
some colleagues at UMASS.”

Lizzie felt her shoulders relax a little and
looked at another shelf to rearrange.

“It’s an interesting idea,” Paula nodded,
but Lizzie could tell she was impressed. “You know, I have a friend
who works at your museum.”

“It’s not my museum. I teach at the local
college. But I might know your friend.”

“Joanne Bates?”

“I know Joanne,” Oliver smiled. Lizzie
caught herself admiring his smile. “I can tell her you say
hello.”

“Yes, definitely. Tell her Paula says
hello.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Lizzie realized her
flub and left her concentration of the bookshelf. “Oliver, this is
Paula. She’s the education program coordinator.”

“Nice to meet you,” Oliver continued his
sweet smile and held out his hand officially.

“The same. So is your visit here part of
your research?”

“No, I,” he lingered in a barely noticeable
pause. “I was hoping I could take a tour.”

Lizzie darted her eyes to the clock behind
the desk. It was 11:30. There was a possibility some more public
would come through to join them by noon. “Lizzie could take you,”
Paula offered generously. “If anyone comes at noon, I’ll take that
tour.”

“The desk?” Lizzie asked.

“Donna will be done by then,” Paula thought
she was doing Lizzie a great kindness. “When you are done, you can
head out to get ready for your party.”

Lizzie hoped the burn wasn’t evident on her
cheeks. She wasn’t going to explain there was a party at her house
that night. It required enough effort to not freeze in terror at
the thought of walking through the house alone with Oliver. On
Halloween. “Are you sure?”

“
Go on,” Paula took the
book from Lizzie’s hands.

Lizzie offered a polite expression towards
Oliver. She stopped to take a drink from her water bottle and then
guided him out of the shop down the corridor into the house. She
took in a deep breath and used all her ability to not tremble. She
was glad to see him, but couldn’t bring herself to show the
affection of seeing an old high school friend. She didn’t know if
it was right to be glad to see him. She didn’t know if Ben would
appreciate her being glad or scared or knowing that Oliver dared to
do what he would not do.

“You can’t touch the furniture,” Lizzie
explained the rules flippantly, without the charm she used with
tourists. “And if there are ropes in the room, you can’t go beyond
them. Turn off your cell phone.”

She hoped she wasn’t too
abrupt. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not in
that house. She led him out of the stair hall into the great room.
“The Fultons were…” she started and tried again. “The Fultons were
a prominent Cambridge family in the early
19
^th
century. They were loyal to the British in the Revolution and
the War of 1812. John Fulton acquired his fortune…” Lizzie faded
feeling ridiculous. “This is the great room,” she said quickly and
stopped so he could look for a second. Then she went back through
the hallway into the parlor. “This is the parlor,” she paused
briefly before passing through. “And the dining room.”

Oliver walked around the table, looking at
the china laid out on the table and the paintings hung over the
fireplace. He put his hands behind his back, perfectly obedient to
the instruction to not touch. He lifted his chin back to her when
he made a complete circle of the room. She hastened to the other
side and went into the next room. “This is the kitchen,” Lizzie
continued her simplicity. She shuddered and stared at the
fireplace, wondering why no one had lit a fire.

“You look great Lizzie,” Oliver took
advantage of her pause. “I like the red hair.”

Lizzie immediately regretted her choice to
dye her hair again. She hadn’t thought until Oliver spoke it that
she chose a resemblance to Eloise. “Thanks,” she said weakly. She
knew her heartbeat accelerated. She wondered if he could sense her
adrenalin rush. She let herself glimpse quickly at his dark eyes,
but looked away when she was confident there was no burn hidden in
them.

Oliver circled the large wooden table with a
few utensils laid out to look as though the cook might come in and
start the next meal. Lizzie never realized how absurd it was to see
a bowl and a couple wooden spoons. As though the cook would start
with that. Besides, the table was always covered in flour and
grease. She shook her head uncertain where that argument came from.
She looked at her watch. It was only 11:40. She couldn’t tell him
they had to get out of the way of the tour coming through. If she
took him upstairs, she would likely run into Donna.

“How’s Ben?” Oliver broke the silence.

“He’s good,” Lizzie nodded mechanically.
“He’s great.”

“
Good.”

“I know you are a vampire,” Lizzie
heightened her posture, fearing that would shed his friendly
demeanor.

“I imagine you do,” he maintained his
gentility, almost amused. He looked at her briefly and crossed to
the fireplace. He lifted his hand to touch the mantle but
remembered the rule and put his hand behind his back. He looked
back at Lizzie, revealing the search for a dozen answers in his
eyes.

“I know about Lily, too,” she said softly
and let herself look at his face. He was really very handsome.
Lizzie was surprised that he looked the same as the last time she
saw him at Springs. It wasn’t like he had grown into his looks in
the 18 years since he… graduated. He didn’t have the alteration of
age to better define his features. He was the same as his
photographs, with thick dark hair and intensely mysterious brown
eyes. He was tall, but that didn’t surprise her. She remembered
that in her dream.

He started to smile but seemed to catch the
thought that prompted it. Or maybe the memory of Lily was always
bittersweet. “I imagine that is why you are here,” he met her
eyes.

“I worked here for four years before I…”
Lizzie realized she answered his indirect question. “Before I knew
I was her.”

“Did you remember something?” he revealed
hope in his eyes, though his face remained calm.

Lizzie felt her cheeks flush, remembering
her wine soaked dream. “I honestly still don’t believe it
completely,” she said hastily. She tried to force the doubt into
her brain, even though it was more difficult to be a cynic now that
she was dating a supernatural. “I’ve had dreams. They usually mix
the present with the past. Or sometimes I would give a tour and say
something that I had no way of knowing.”

“Like what?” he revealed an impish
amusement.

“One time I said the parlor wallpaper was
green,” Lizzie muttered, thinking of Paula’s reprimand after
overhearing that. “Obviously, it’s not. But… we don’t know that’s
not the original wallpaper.”

“It’s not,” Oliver shook his head. “It was
green. Lily… she always liked that color.”

“Oh,” Lizzie was relieved Lily was referred
to in third person. “Do you remember this house?”

“I remember it well,” Oliver looked up as if
collecting the memories in his mind. “It feels strange to be here
again.”

“How so?”

“It’s empty.
This
room was always
full of servants. They were all such gossips about everyone who
came in here, about every house in the neighborhood. The gentry and
the servants,” he stopped to recollect more detail. “The wallpaper
is peeling and faded.”

“Well, yeah.”

“A lot of the furniture is different. It
smells musty… not like smoky fires and the starch from Mrs.
Fulton’s linens. This room doesn’t seem right without a big cut of
beef hanging over the fireplace or the herbs from the ceiling… it’s
different. But the way it creaks, the way the light comes through
some of the windows… it’s the same.”

Lizzie shook her head in the silence that
followed his comments. “They are so god-dammed precious about that
wallpaper.”

“That’s funny,” Oliver laughed. “There are
so many things on this planet that need to be preserved. And people
get obsessed over wallpaper.”