Eternally Yours (27 page)

Frustration ate away at him. Why was she crying--over his mistake with Mariah, over Mark’s mistake with her, maybe even over Sulley? Geoff had never been one to abide tears, and his instinct was to flee.

He tried to float out of the house, but the stone wall blocked him. What was happening to him? Early in his ghosthood he’d learned that he faced some barriers, but normally he could go anywhere he’d been during his lifetime without worrying about passing through objects.

Lara picked up a napkin and blew her nose loudly. He knew she’d spent most of the previous night crying, too. The woman was a virtual watering pot. If she was so unhappy, why didn’t she do something to improve her lot?

With growing aggravation, he tried passing through the doorway leading to the hallway. To his shock he came up against an invisible barrier. He couldn’t even get out of the room!

Glancing over his shoulder, he threw Lara a spiteful look. He didn’t understand this muddle about building permits and zoning boards that had her upset with Mark. What did such matters have to do with love? How was he, a ghost, supposed to fix something that he couldn’t even comprehend?

Desperate, he charged toward one of the inside walls. He passed through easily and found himself in the secret room. All at once a heavy weight pressed down on him--an devastating sense of heartbreak like he had never felt before. For the first time in his existence he knew what it was to long for something--someone--with all of one’s heart.

Initially he thought that Lara’s feelings had somehow come upon him. Good God, was she that lonely without Mark? Then a flicker of light in front of the fireplace caught the corner of his eye.

“Mariah?”

When he turned to look, the hearth stood empty.

“Mariah, is it you I’m feeling? Is that dreadful pain yours?” His voice broke under the stress of his emotions. Staring into the hearth, he looked for a sign of her presence but couldn’t detect a trace. He tried to concentrate on the memories he’d recently recovered of making love to her here. Instead of the pleasurable sensations that he anticipated, yearning and despair cut through him.

The pain in the room was
his
, he realized with a shock. Mariah wasn’t here. He was all alone.

To his horror, a tear squeezed out of his eye. He dropped to his knees in front of the fireplace and asked the empty air, “How can I bring you back to me?”

Of course, he got no answer.

He let out a sob, reduced to the wretched state he’d scorned in Lara only moments before. Intently aware of his isolation, he couldn’t bear staying in the room where he’d once been as one with Mariah. With no particular aim, he floated away and through the wall into the hallway.

He came across Lara, now back in the dining room. Standing beside the table, she slid Mark’s book toward her. As she reread the inscription inside the cover, her eyes looked round and soft. Whatever Mark had written obviously eased her anger with him, if only temporarily.

There’s the answer!
Geoff saw suddenly. As a poet he should have thought of it before. Mark was a man of letters, and words could be a powerful thing.

A swell of inspiration rose inside him. All he had to do was convey the information to his descendant, to show Mark how he could reach Lara. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt that he had a purpose.

Plunging through the dining room wall, he reached the outdoors with no struggle. His restored freedom of movement seemed to confirm he’d taken the right path, and the conviction

exhilarated him.

Immediately he warned himself to temper his elation. Though he appeared to be on the right course, he didn’t want to speculate how far it might lead him. Hope had eluded him for so long he didn’t dare try to grasp onto it now.

* * * *

Mark stared at the computer monitor on his desk without seeing the words on the screen. He’d been sitting at the keyboard for over an hour but hadn’t written a single sentence. Since he’d come home from Lara’s house, all he could think about was her--what he should have done differently throughout their acquaintance, how it was too late to do anything now. Why hadn’t he tried to reason with her in the beginning, instead of insisting that his way was the only way? If he’d acted sensibly, she wouldn’t have applied for her building permit until they’d developed workable plans
together
.

That would never happen now.

The screen saver came on for the fourth or fifth time since he’d sat down. This time he didn’t bother to turn it off.

Getting up from his chair, he paced away from the desk. So much for the burst of productivity he’d enjoyed two days before. Feeling the way he did now, he doubted he would ever manage to finish his manuscript.

He went to the window and looked out at the parking lot. His apartment may have been laid-out in an interesting way, but the view left a lot to be desired. Currently under a cloudy sky, the stretch of asphalt below looked even more gray than usual. Even the cars there seemed to be the dullest ones in the lot. The lack of color suited his mood.

The scene in front of him blurred as his thoughts lapsed back to the crisis in his life. How could Lara have called that jerk, Sulley, and asked him to come back to her? Didn’t she realize she’d be sorry? People didn’t change, not really. Judging by Karen’s recent behavior,
she
already regretted making up with her ex...but he supposed Lara wouldn’t appreciate that example. Trying to explain Karen’s involvement in the zoning problem to her had probably been a mistake. He would have been better off simply taking the blame himself. After all, he
had
been the one who’d let the information slip.

The morning continued to pass with agonizing slowness as he alternated from the desk to the window to the bookcase, pacing back and forth, mentally kicking himself. He checked his watch and found it finally approached noon. His stomach rumbled, and he remembered that he’d never eaten breakfast.

Dragging himself to the kitchen, he rummaged up some leftover pasta from the fridge and microwaved it. The meal turned out dry, and washing down it with a bottle of the beer he didn’t like only made it less appetizing.

Afterwards he went to the living room. He sat down in front of the TV but didn’t even turn it on. Nothing interested him now that he’d ruined things with Lara.

As he sat in gloomy silence, a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye drew his attention to the shelves under the stairs. His gaze shot to the neat rows of books and CDs he kept in the built-in case. Everything looked to be in place, and he hadn’t heard anything fall. The idea of being haunted occurred to him, but he refused to get caught up in that kind of thinking. His state of mind was already bad enough. Outside the clouds had grown dark, and in the dusky lighting his eyes must have been playing tricks on him.

Forcing himself to get up off the couch, he turned on a floor lamp that stood beside the stairs. He glanced over at the shelves again and noticed one of his ancestor’s volumes of poetry among the books. Lately he’d found himself caught up in Geoff’s verses--a world Lara had opened up to him.

Hoping the words might offer him something now, he reached

for the book and pulled it out.

He returned to his seat and opened the cover. To his surprise, a folded piece of paper slipped out and fluttered to the floor. Though he’d skimmed through the book within the last few days, he didn’t remember seeing the sheet before. He leaned down and picked it up.

White and unfrayed, the paper looked new, but when he unfolded it he saw that elaborate old-fashioned writing filled one side, taking the form of poetry. He recognized his ancestor’s hand. If Geoff had written the words, the paper must have been older than it looked--a good, acid-free pulp that held up to time.

Curiosity piqued, he read the lines:

Two lovers stole a moment of bliss,

Captivated in each other’s kiss,

But, weighted down by worldly affairs,

They forgot what it means to care.

Dear lovers, forget the problems you bear,

Remember the joy you have to share.

When happiness comes, don’t close the door.

If you forsake this chance, you may have no more.

The fear of change may grip your hearts,

But if you let it keep you apart,

Time will show how much you missed,

The day you renounced each other’s kiss.

As Mark finished reading, a chill shivered through him. As much as he kept trying to deny the existence of ghosts, he couldn’t help wondering if his great, great grandfather had spoken to him through the poem. The words seemed conspicuously applicable to him and Lara--and the paper looked perfectly new. Was it possible that the lines were actually written for them?

He gulped. He wasn’t about to try asking the ghost for clarification, but he thought that the poem made sense. If Lara wouldn’t see him, maybe she would read a letter from him, especially if he enclosed Geoff’s poem with it. Instead of sitting here passively while she made up with her ex, he would make sure she knew how he felt about her.

Taking his ancestor’s poem to his desk, he sat down and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.

“Dear Lara,” he wrote...then stared at the empty space beneath the words. What did he really have to offer her? How could he even capture her attention enough to make her care how he felt about her? In her point of view, he’d tried to block her plans for her house. How could he make that up to her?

The beginnings of an idea stirred in him. Earlier he’d been sorry that he’d missed out on the chance to work with her on an alternate plan for her house. What if he could come up with a great concept now and present it to her? With all of his experience with old houses, he had to be able to think of something.

The scheme excited him. It was the one way he might be able to compensate for some of his mistakes.

Tapping his pen on the desk, he contemplated the studio, visualizing its beautiful architecture. Of course, tampering with the original layout of the house was out of the question--so what could they do?

An idea clicked in his mind. He’d have to confirm a few details--if Lara ever let him in her house again--but he felt almost sure he had the perfect solution.

As he put his pen to the paper again, Geoff’s poem caught his eye, and he silently thanked his ancestor for his help--coincidental or intentional. The verses had inspired him, and he had a feeling they might influence Lara, too. She had once loved the old boy, and, whether or not she approved of his exploits, she believed she had a connection to his ghost. Mark thought that if she wouldn’t listen to
him
, she might pay attention to Geoff...but he couldn’t depend on it. Right now, more than ever, he had to make his own words count.

Leaning over the paper, he started writing the most important letter of his life.

Chapter 18

Lara was at the stove cooking an omelet when she heard a knock at her back door.
Ron
, she thought,
here for the second day in a row
. This time he’d playfully tapped out the “shave and a haircut” beat--kind of a lighthearted thing for him to do. He must have been in a good mood. She guessed he’d come back to tell her more about his manufacturing deal.

Frowning, she set down her flipper and turned off the burner. She may have been glad to hear about his good fortune the day before, but if he planned to make a habit of dropping by, she’d have to put an end to it now.

Instead of answering the door right away, she peeked out of a window to its side.

Di stood on the back step. She spotted Lara and waved, a grin spreading across her face.

The tension drained from Lara’s body. Nothing could have been a more welcome sight. She threw open the dead bolt and stepped outside to greet her friend with a hug. “God, it’s good to see you. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Di looked tanned and relaxed after her week at the beach. She thrust a box of saltwater taffy toward Lara. “I like my sister-in-law well enough, but she and I don’t have a lot in common. We ran out of things to talk about days ago.”

“Thank you,” Lara said as she took the candy. Glancing down at the box, she hoped it contained a lot of chocolate ones. She could use the comfort of chocolate. “I didn’t think you’d be home till tonight, and I never expected to hear from you today.”

“The forecast sounded shaky, so we left a day early. I don’t know if it made the news here, but they were expecting a big storm along the coast. We didn’t want to get caught in a lot of rain on the drive home.”

Lara shook her head. “No, I hadn’t heard, but I’m glad you took precautions. I hope you had better luck with the weather the rest of the week.”

“Oh, we did.” Di dropped her keys into her purse. “Most of the time it was beautiful, barely a cloud in sight.”

“Good. Can you come in for a minute now, or do you have too much to do?”

“Of course I can come in.”

Lara stepped back and held the door open for her.

As Di entered the kitchen, she sniffed at the air. “What smells so good?”

“I was just making breakfast.” She went to the stove to turn the eggs over. “Do you want some of this omelet? As usual, I’ve made enough to feed an army.”

“No, thanks, I’ve already eaten--though I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.” Her friend set her purse down on one corner of the counter. “Go ahead and fix your omelet. I can get the coffee myself.”

“So, tell me all about your vacation,” Lara urged her, glad to have something besides Mark to focus on.

While Lara finished cooking and dished out her food, Di described the highlights of her time in Cape Hatteras. The house they’d rented sounded great, but there hadn’t been much else besides beach in the area. If Lara had come along, the isolated location definitely would have left her stranded with the two couples.

On the other hand, considering her devastation at home, she probably would have been better off.