An Ever Fixéd Mark (40 page)

“Yes, but… why did you change them?”

“Rachel was also an actress. She was in the
silent movies, first in New York then in Los Angeles. She didn’t
want to grow old. She’s a little vain, actually. I thought I was in
love with her. I thought I wanted to spend – well, yes, maybe I did
think I wanted to spend forever with her. But after five years, we
really didn’t have very much to say to one another. Plus, there was
still…”

“Charlotte?”

“Yes. Charlotte,” Oliver glanced back at the
stage as a high pitched chirp came from the microphone. “She went
back to New York. I stayed in LA until I came back to go to
Springs.”

“What about Alison?”

Oliver let out a smile, showing affection
Lizzie almost wished didn’t exist. “Alison was a surprise. She was
in a seminar I was teaching. She knew what I was. I didn’t have to
explain anything to her,” Oliver faded into his smile. Lizzie felt
suddenly foolish. Melissa Benson knew. Oliver’s wife knew. Neither
was as oblivious as Lizzie to this sub-culture. They didn’t feel
the need to reveal a wrist and make the vampire prove it.
Supposedly Lizzie knew vampires in not just one life, but three.
Was she really that dense? Or was she trying to protect herself
from something she didn’t want to know?

“Was she a source before you changed her?”
Lizzie forced herself to ask another question for which she didn’t
really want the answer.

“She was,” Oliver explained slowly as the
band tested the bass. “I miss the taste of her blood.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I thought … I saw us together for a
long time.”

“But not forever?”

“No. Not forever.”

“So why isn’t she here with you?”

“Because she fell in love with one of her
sources,” Oliver answered as the band revved into the first
song.

Lizzie looked at her hamburger and forced
herself to take a bite of her cold meal. She swallowed it down with
a large gulp of stout and turned her attention to the music
playing. She didn’t know the band. She couldn’t follow the lyrics
as her head clouded with all the information of the past two days
and the deafening pulse of the speakers. She mindlessly consumed
the rest of her beer and half of Oliver’s as the band completed
their first four songs.

“So… are you still with you wife?” Lizzie
asked the question she held on her tongue.

“No,” Oliver answered as the lead shouted
out the start of the fifth song.

Lizzie reached for Oliver’s beer and
swallowed the remaining half. Her cheeks flared with the warmth of
the alcohol and the lingering wind burn. She barely noticed the
detail of the remaining four songs. For two of them, she dared
herself to observe Oliver bouncing his head. He didn’t seem upset
by his revelation. Did he not care? Why did he not care? Had Alison
hurt him by leaving… or was he relieved? Did that give him the
freedom to pursue other interests? Like his doctoral thesis? Or the
chance to meet what Lily had become in a new century?

She was still lost in the whirlpool of her
thoughts when the band cleared the stage. Oliver took the bill on
the table and paid it with a credit card or cash… or something. It
was all a blur. The day started to meld together in a strange
cocktail of emotion and memory. She didn’t feel herself emerge
until they stepped out into the brisk evening.

“Shall I take you home?”

“I can take a train,” Lizzie hadn’t decided
if she was going back to Jefferson Park or Ben’s empty
apartment.

“There are strange creatures walking about,”
he winked. “Let me take the train with you.”

“Why did she fall for one of her
sources?”

“Why? I can’t tell you why, Lizzie.”

“How long were you together?”

“Ten years.”

“That’s not too long.”

“No.”

“Did you want it to end?”

“No.”

“Then why…”

“I think my obsession with work had
something to do with it. Alison wanted to take advantage of her
perpetual youth. A number of her friends have children and are
getting gray hairs… I imagine a part of her wanted to get away from
that. She is still new to this.”

“Is she still in California?”

“No, she is in Japan with her lover.”

“Oh.”

“I will see her again. We still own a house
together. I don’t… forever is also too long to condemn to
never.”

“Mmm,” Lizzie started a quick walk towards
the T station. She still wasn’t certain where she was going to get
off. She had to move. She didn’t want to pause long enough to think
about another readjustment to her reality.

She walked quickly down the steps into the
terminal. Oliver was like a shadow behind her. She couldn’t hear
his steps, but felt his company. She paused to look down the dark
tunnel, as if that would hasten the arrival of the train. There was
nothing but the long echo of darkness. There were a handful of
other expectant passengers, but not a large enough crowd to allow
herself the silence of not thinking of what to say.

“Why did you marry her?”

“I loved her.”

“Ben says you fall in love easily.”

Oliver laughed lightly as the fume ridden
air ruffled through the tunnel. “I suppose I do.”

The echo of the approaching train whispered
like a ghost. “I am very reluctant.”

“Why?”

“Because… it …” Lizzie faded as her purse
slid off her shoulder. She readjusted her arm to put it back in
place as the wind of the tunnel increased and the train approached.
She looked back and saw Oliver’s dark eyes watching her. She smiled
briefly and nodded her head towards the train. She took a small
step forward as the doors opened, following the other passengers.
Oliver suddenly reached for her hand and pulled her towards him.
She heard the bell warning the close of the doors as he pressed his
lips to hers. She felt an instinct to push him away but forgot it
as she lost awareness of the station and the train pulling away.
She dropped her purse and abandoned all sense of time and place.
She only felt his warm, passionate kiss. It was familiar and
comfortable. She thought of his hesitant hands by the side of the
carriage house. He was no longer tentative. His kiss thrilled her
and made her want more. She didn’t want to pull away even though
she knew there was something she should remember about why she
shouldn’t stay so close to him, why she shouldn’t let him indulge
that intimacy. No, he was always hers. No matter what other choice
she made. No matter how many lovers he had. How many vampires he
made. Oliver was always hers.

Another train thundered into the station. A
large noisy crowd left the train and pulled Lizzie back to
awareness. She let go of Oliver and picked up her purse. “I should…
get on this train,” she said quickly. Oliver put his hand at the
lower part of her back. “No. Don’t come with me,” she walked to the
open doors. She regretted her harshness and turned quickly. “Have
fun in New York.” She got on the train just as the doors slid shut.
She saw his dark eyes watch her as the train started to move. They
looked confused and sad, just like her own.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

Lizzie stared out the window across the
yards of the neighboring houses on Brattle Street. She didn’t know
which belonged to the Harris family two hundred years ago. Most
were likely built long after the Harris family left Brattle Street.
There was no carriage house attached to any of them, not even as a
converted garage. It was entirely possible the carriage house and
the Harris homestead were no longer.

“What is this room?” one of the visitors
called Lizzie back to the present.

She shook herself out of her reverie. “This
is the guest room,” Lizzie said with the monotone effort she
produced for most of her tour. Her rhythm was off. She knew she
wasn’t interesting and that she was making her three members and
two student guests bored with her relation of elementary facts.
“The four poster bed is made of mahogany and was purchased by
Margaret Fulton in 1811,” Lizzie was losing interest in herself as
she stared at the bed and felt the sensation of Oliver’s kiss. She
smiled again and tried to put some more intonation in her
explanation of the London expatriate who crafted the wood posts.
She was glad when she filled her three minutes in the room,
neglecting to mention any of the guests who actually used it, and
was able to take the tour back down the stairs to the gift
shop.

She was glad Paula and Andrew were locked in
a conversation about some reality show. Lizzie had little
inclination to be social for most of the day. She almost made the
phone call that morning to Paula saying she felt ill. She realized
she didn’t want to be stuck at Ben’s apartment, or even worse, her
own. She knew the idleness and solitude would allow her head to
fill with the question she wasn’t ready to answer. She didn’t want
to think about Oliver and his kiss, even though it returned to her
mind every other silent moment. It was one thing to remember the
sensation. It was another thing to think why she kissed him
back.

She hoped there would be a phone call from
Ben, or even a message to tell her he was thinking of her. Anything
to prove she was on his mind, even if it only made her feel guilty.
She wanted to feel guilty, anything to stop her from wanting… from
wanting it to happen again.

“Lizzie, you will be here Thanksgiving
weekend, right?” Paula asked her suddenly.

“Mm hm,” Lizzie reached for her water
bottle.

“I’m going to New Jersey for the holiday,”
Paula explained. “Andrew can only work in the morning. It will
probably be you and Donna to close the house.”

“Okay,” Lizzie tried to focus her thoughts
on Thanksgiving and Ben. Maybe she could convince Ben to come to
the house. She wasn’t sure why the absence of Paula and Andrew
would suddenly make it more appealing… but maybe… She had plans for
Thanksgiving. She was determined to keep them. She wasn’t going to
let a few moments after three beers change her mind. Once Ben was
back she would forget everything. She missed him. She missed having
him to talk to, to hold her close, to be at her side… to take her
blood.

“Is that okay with you Lizzie?” Andrew asked
as though he repeated himself.

“What?”

“That if things aren’t too busy I leave an
hour earlier that day?”

“Yeah, sure,” Lizzie answered with little
concern.

“I might bring my mother here,” Andrew
explained. “But I know she would like the afternoon to do some more
shopping.”

“Of course,” Lizzie managed a smile.

“You must be excited for her visit,” Paula
offered when Lizzie decided to focus on the sign in book. She
couldn’t read the names and addresses scrawled over the lines, but
it was a preferable pretense to avoid listening to Andrew’s trivial
details.

Lizzie sat at the
reception table and looked for something to distract her mind. She
picked up a volume of
The Fulton Family
Legacy
. It was open to a chapter about the
family’s involvement in politics at the end of the
20
^th
century. Lizzie flipped back to the introductory chapters
about the earlier Fultons. She already knew Margaret and John were
crammed into a scant twenty pages. There were portraits of both of
them, as well as one of John Fulton’s son from his first marriage,
Horace. Lizzie looked closer at the grayscale copy of the
portrait.

He wasn’t smiling. The bulk of his cravat
diminished any suggestion of a neck and made his head look
disproportionately large compared to the rest of his body. He had
dark eyes – or so they seemed in the black and white copy – that
had very little white in the irises. His hair was shortly cropped,
but showed the subtle hint of a curl with the two or three strands
captured on his forehead. He had tiny ears and a long narrow nose.
She saw the resemblance to his father. She supposed he could be
handsome, especially if the contour of his muscle was poorly
rendered by the portraitist. She wasn’t sure why she thought it
might be… except that… well of course it was. It was just a
painting. A painting of a man long since turned to dust. Had she
once… really… was he really the one Oliver said took Lily to the
garden and…

“Is the boyfriend home yet?” Andrew leaned
over the edge of the desk.

Lizzie felt her cheeks burn scarlet. She
couldn’t imagine even Andrew would conclude the thoughts she was
supposing about the illustration in the book. “No,” she kept her
eyes on the book.

“Do you want to have dinner with Davis and
me?” Andrew picked the book up from under Lizzie’s gaze and flipped
through a few pages. “Gerard Fulton is a blowhard. I can’t believe
he gets people to pay to read about how great he thinks his family
is.”

“I was reading it,” Lizzie dared to lift her
eyes to Paula.

“Yes, but you didn’t buy the book,” Andrew
set it down irreverently. “Do you want to come for dinner?”

“Sorry,” Lizzie managed a pleasant
expression. “Nora and Mark already invited me.”

“When is he back?”

“Tomorrow night,” Lizzie sighed. “But just
for a few days. He has to go back for some event next weekend.”

“How did Ben’s brother like the house?”
Paula approached the desk.

Lizzie darted her eyes quickly to Andrew’s
expectant face. She hoped more red stayed away from her cheeks. “He
liked it,” Lizzie cleared her throat. “He’s a scientist. I think he
just came to be polite.”

“When did Ben’s brother come here?” Andrew
asked.

“Halloween,” Paula answered before Lizzie
could supply her own. “The day of your party. Did he go?”

“No he didn’t,” Andrew looked hard at
Lizzie.

“Ben and Oliver don’t get along very much,”
Lizzie found enough cool to offer up a level of honesty without
divulging the worst details. “He was in town and has an interest in
museums… so he decided to check out the Fulton House.”