Mikalo's Fate (The Mikalo Chronicles) (16 page)

I'd talk to Damen. He'd know what to do, who to go to, who to work with to get it done fast.

Yes, that'd be perfect.

I stood to go, Nona still lost in a world of memory, her private tears bubbling below the surface.

Suddenly, I leaned forward and kissed her on the top of the head. A small kiss that lingered in the silver of her hair. A grateful kiss that not only thanked her for her generosity, but recognized the private price that was being paid.

Her hand patted my arm quickly, her shoulders relaxing as she allowed this brief bit of affection.

And then I left her.

Left her to her thoughts, her quiet, her memories.

Left her to whatever dreams she had relinquished when she gave me the hidden key to this House of Broken Hearts.

"Yes, this I can do."

He circled to the back, by where the garden would be, the cliff behind him with the blue sea glinting in the sunlight in the distance.

Deni and I stood near the front door of this now infamous House of Broken Hearts waiting for Damen to reappear around the side, his fingers stroking his chin as he thought, his brow furrowing as he once again shielded his eyes as he looked up to glance at the roof.

"No, no," he said to himself, "this is a thing I can do without too much work.

"But I will need help," he then said, looking at me.

"Whatever you need," I assured him.

He flashed me that gorgeous grin, his fingers absentmindedly scratching through his dark, thick hair, pulling the long locks from his face.

"I can get wood for the floor, glass for the windows, thick glass that will not break, maybe shingles now for the roof, I think, yes."

And he disappeared around to the back, lost in thought once more, the planning of this renovation now obsessing him.

I had grabbed Deni after breakfast, walking with her to the beach, leaving Mikalo with those few in his family who were still planning a wedding that obviously was going to happen now.

In truth, I had no idea what they were doing. But something was obviously being done, caterers, perhaps, scheduling something of a menu, food being bought and prepared, a space, I guess, being decorated.

I didn't know. Per the Delis Family tradition -- or something --, I was purposely kept in the dark.

"That'd kill me" Deni said as we stood at the water's edge.

"It was and it still is, kind of, but, hell, I don't know if it's even happening."

"If it doesn't happen here, it'll happen in New York," she quickly said. "Don't worry about it. I'll be calling you Mrs. Delis in no time."

"So, listen," I began, glancing toward the house before continuing. "There's an old ramshackle house on the hill, a tiny little place in need of repair. And, for whatever reason, it's a place that touches Mikalo deeply. I have no idea why, but there's definitely a history with this place."

"Okay," Deni said slowly.

"The thing is, Nona gave me the key. And this is what's interesting: even though the place is almost falling apart and the door was nearly off the hinges, Mikalo wouldn't enter without the key. And now here's Nona giving me the key.

"It's Fate, I'm telling you. It was like she was recognizing my importance to him and, I don't know, passing the torch or something by giving me this key.

"And what I'd like to do now is renovate it. Make it as close to new as I can. Make it a place Mikalo and I can come to when we visit his family.

"Your own home far from that," Deni agreed, nodding toward the massive Delis family compound nearby.

"Yes, exactly."

I stopped, waiting for her response.

I didn't know what it would be. I couldn't imagine her saying it was a stupid idea or disagree that it's something I should do. I think I was telling her this just to share it. Just to have someone to agree that it was a great idea.

"It's a great idea," she then said, on cue.

"Would you like to see it?"

She stared at me like I was crazy.

"Ronan, I love you and I love Mikalo, but there is nothing to do here. I've been here not even two days and I'm already bored out of my skull.

"So, yes, please, take me to see this broken down piece of junk house or cottage or whatever it is."

I laughed.

"I'll see if Olo can take us up," I said. "But Mikalo cannot know, okay? It's a surprise. I'm kind of making it a wedding gift from Nona."

"Does she know that?"

Pausing, I considered the question, remembering her face turned away, her shoulders stiff. The tight sound of her voice as she brusquely agreed before wordlessly sending me away.

I thought of my lips lost in her hair as I silently thanked her.

"Yeah," I then said. "I think she does."

And now, less than an hour later, Deni and I stood waiting for Damen to join us at the front door of the cottage on the hill. The wedding present from Nona.

Olo was busy when she and I approached him for a ride in the Jeep, my memories of my journey with Mikalo lost in a haze of dust and sudden turns and low branches slapping the windshield.

Damen was not, Mikalo's ferociously handsome friend agreeing at once to take us there and implicitly understanding both how important this was and how secret it must remain.

He and I had sat in front, Deni in the back, the branches once again assaulting the windshield when they weren't stealing into the cab to smack my shoulders and slap my arms.

And soon, there we stood, surveying the damage and dreaming of what could be.

Damen now reappeared, coming to stand next to me at the front door.

He held his hand out for the key.

It felt silly, really. As strong as I wasn't, I could easily lift this door, pop it effortlessly from the hinges, and move it to the side, leaning it out of the way against the heavy stone walls.

But there was something wrong about that. Mikalo's insistence that without a key, it was a place he could not enter, was not welcome to enter, haunted me. I needed to respect that.

I handed the key to Damen.

Turning to the door, he paused, the key near the lock. And then he stopped, slipped the key back into my palm and, grabbing the door, popped it from its hinges and moved it out of the way.

"The lock," he explained, turning to me apologetically, "it is rusty. It will not work. It needs repaired."

Deni laughed, her head back, her blonde curls shining in the bright midday sun.

Damen smiled, his eyes twinkling.

I shook my head at how ludicrous this was all becoming.

And then I smiled.

He stepped to the side, indicating I was to enter first.

It wasn't as bad as I thought.

The floor was in disrepair, of course, who knows how many years of wind and rain spilling over the floor only to have the boards dried in the sun and warped by the heat. And the ceiling was a bit of a nightmare, a wooden beam swinging free on one end, and, over there, a second beam cracked in the middle.

Needless to say, there was no furniture, anything that would have sat here in this corner or over there near that window having been taken long ago.

I had no idea how Damen would fix this in the few days I'd given him.

But he seemed confident it could be done, and I trusted him, so ... it'd be done.

The space was small. With the vines cleared and everything repaired, the glass put back in the windows and the walls covered with a coat of bright white paint, a small table for two there, chairs over here, perhaps a rustic couch in front of the fire, yes, it'd be comfy even.

A fireplace anchored one side of the room, square windows bookending the mantle, a thick, gnarled board set into the stone of the chimney. I drew closer, peering into the black of the soot, the crumbled remnants of wood, of kindling, of coal.

There was a chimney crane, a base of metal holding a vertical bar, a hook at its end, used to hold pots for cooking.

It occurred to me, finally, that people may have lived here. That there was a life lived here, perhaps. Laughter, tears, love, joy, disappointment. It was easy to forget, looking at the crumbling walls, dodgy ceiling, and warped wood floor, that this was a home.

I wandered to the second room, discovering a smaller space with four windows, the glass still intact, and a pile of weather-worn shutters propped in the corner.

"Damen," I called out.

A moment later, he appeared, Deni behind him.

"These shutters," I asked, "are they fixable? Is this something we could use?"

He moved near, squatting and lifting a shutter. Turning it over in his hand, he shrugged.

"Some of it, yes. Other parts, I don't know. But if you want shutters on the windows, that is something we can do."

The thought of that made me happy for some odd reason. It felt nice and homey thinking of having shutters.

"What about the walls outside?" I suddenly asked, remembering the crumbling rock and jagged pebbles lining the ground beneath.

He pulled himself from studying a second shutter, his eyes finding me in the subtle shade of where we stood.

"It is not a problem," he said.

"The stones are crumbling, Damen," I reminded him. "It might be a problem."

"No," he insisted. "What you see is not the stone crumbling. It is what is holding the stone together. The ... what is it?"

"The mortar," Deni said. "I think that's what it's called."

"Then, yes, the mortar," Damen said. "It has dried and is no longer useful and must be replaced. It will be a simple thing."

Deni turned from the window where she now stood.

"There's a lot to do here," she said. "I think focusing on getting the process started and making it look nice is a first priority. And then we can dig deep and deal with structural issues.

"Right?" she then asked, looking at me. "It's not like you guys are going to move in and start living here right away."

I nodded. She was right.

"Bring it back," she continued, looking now at Damen, "make it look fantastic, let Mikalo see what it can be, and then, after he and Ronan are back in the States, do what you can to make sure it's as solid and strong as it can be."

Damen stood with his arms folded over his chest, listening, his head down, his eyes on the floor beneath his feet.

He shook his head.

"No," he said, his eyes lifting as they returned Deni's gaze. "To do a job half-right is not the way I work. Mikalo deserves better. His bride deserves better. I will work night and day to make it perfect. Safe, strong, a home where they can live whenever they want. A place to have many babies."

Deni shot me a look.

I gave a small shake of my head.

No, I was not pregnant.

She damn near sighed with relief.

Looking back at Damen,

"Then I'll help you," Deni suddenly said.

Damen didn't respond.

I turned to her.

"Are you sure?"

She shrugged.

"Like I said, there really isn't much to do. I don't know what else I'd be doing anyway, so it makes sense for me to pitch in and help. It'll be another gift from me to you and Mikalo."

"Other than the gravy boat?" I teased.

"Other than the gravy boat."

She smiled.

"Then I'll help, too," I quickly said.

"No," Deni said.

"What do you mean 'no'?"

"This is not a good thing," Damen said.

"Ronan, if this is to be a surprise for Mikalo, you can't be gone all day. What would you tell him when you came home covered in dust and dirt? He'd figure it out."

Damn, she was right.

Damen looked from her to me and back again.

"I think she is right," he then said, looking at me again. "It is an easy lie to say I am showing Deni around the island. And there is the wedding for you to prepare for, yes?"

I nodded.

At least I hoped there was.

And then remembering Nona's words last night, I allowed myself to believe that yes, there would be a wedding. Soon. Very, very soon.

"But still," Damen was saying. "I will need material and men."

"Will that be difficult?" Deni asked him.

He shook his head.

"No, I do not think so," he answered. "We will go into town and it will be figured out."

"Town?" Deni asked. "There's a town? Here? On the island?"

"Yeah," I said. "Very cute little town. Over on the other side, not too far from here."