Soul and Shadow (14 page)

"
I know what I must do, mistress,
"
Kamenwati says harshly.
"
Do not doubt me. I have my plans. Kahotep will be gone by the time of the harvest. After that, nothing will stop us.
"

"
Nothing,
"
she repeats, flinging herself against him.

They are far too busy to be distracted. I back up as quietly as I can, which is easy, since I have no substance. I am no longer flesh and blood, but a ghost. And like a ghost, I flit quickly away.

Chapter Seventeen

When I awoke the next morning, I could not shake off the effect of my nightmare. I kept telling myself that it was my own emotional turmoil that was causing these vivid dreams. I was imagining feelings from Amisihathor that paralleled what I was experiencing. But of course, I had no idea what had really happened to her. It was all ridiculous. As ridiculous as supposing that Kent had rushed off to England because of another woman.

What next, Lily?
I asked myself sternly.
Going to see the wise man for an amulet? You had far better keep your mind on your portfolio.

I did try to sketch, but it wasn
'
t easy to concentrate. I gave up and went into the kitchen to grab a muffin. I had just bitten into it when the telephone rang. My heart leapt, and I ran to answer it. A familiar voice greeted me, but not the one I was hoping to hear.

"
Lily, is that you?
"

I repressed a sigh.
"
Hi, Mom.
"

"
I
'
ve got your insurance bill. It came in the mail yesterday. You would think after six months they
'
d have your new address on record.
"

"
I know,
"
I agreed.
"
I
'
ve called them often enough. Well, I
'
ll stop by after work and pick it up.
"

"
All right. I
'
ll make you something to eat. Do you suppose Stephen—
"

"
Sorry, Mom, I have to go. The doorbell
'
s ringing. Bye!
"

Ay-yi-freakin
'
-ay. The woman was never going to give up. As if that wasn
'
t irritating enough, I had forgotten that the bi-yearly life insurance bill was due. I
'
d have to readjust my budget to pay it. I
'
d have to call the company yet again. But I couldn
'
t bother with it now. The extra hour I
'
d allotted for drawing had elapsed with absolutely no progress. It was time to go to work.

The day was quiet. Dr. Briggs was not in the office, and I read some articles about the origin of certain ancient Egyptian glass. It was used in some of the most exquisite jewelry, including the regalia of King Tut, and scientists were positing that perhaps it had come from a meteorite. It was a fascinating hypothesis and much more engrossing than the scholarly footnotes I had to spend the afternoon working on.

I left an hour early and drove out to the leafy green suburb where my mother lived and where I had grown up. As I pulled into the driveway of the split-level stucco, I felt the same slight sense of disturbance that I did every time I visited my old home.

There were still traces of my father—the trees he
'
d planted in the yard, the antique coat-rack he
'
d inherited from his grandmother—but for the most part, his spirit was gone. The house reflected my mother
'
s tastes, almost as if he had never lived there. She said that constant reminders were too painful, and his personal possessions had long been packed away. His study became a guest bedroom, his golf clubs and tools went to friends of the family.

Only one picture remained on display. It was a large studio portrait of the three of us, made the year before he died. It now sat on the mantle with my graduation photo on one side and a snapshot of Stephen and me on the other.

It was only with maturity that I had come to understand my mother
'
s way of grieving. At the time, I had needed the physical trappings that made me feel my father was not truly gone. I wanted everything exactly the way it had been. I kept a paperweight I had made him for his birthday on the nightstand by my bed. I still had it now, sitting on my own desk. It was my most prized possession.

Nothing in my old home brought him back clearly anymore, but when I looked at that paperweight, his image rose up like a bright light illuminating my mind. He had
acted as thrilled as if I
'
d given him a treasure chest of gold. I had encased a drawing of him in round glass, and he told me that one day, after I was famous, they would want it for a museum, but he would never give it up.
"
Not for a million dollars, Princess,
"
he promised. And not for a million dollars would I give up that memory of him.

My mother was in the kitchen.
"
Hello, dear,
"
she greeted me.
"
I made a nice fruit salad, why don
'
t you take it out of the refrigerator and I
'
ll heat up the casserole.
"

I set the table while she bustled about getting our dinner. We talked in a desultory way about work, her bad back, and—surprise, surprise—Stephen.

"
He
'
s absolutely thrilled by your new book,
"
she told me.
"
Wouldn
'
t it be nice to have a husband who supported your career so strongly?
"

"
Mom,
"
I said,
"
Stephen is happy for me because he
'
s my friend. My
friend
. That
'
s all there is to it.
"

"
Of course,
"
she agreed. But it was the same way she had answered me when I used to tell her that fairies lived in the back yard. It was obvious that she did not believe it.

One subject I didn
'
t mention was Kent. Since she
'
d never shown any interest in him, I was not about to tell her that he was gone. She would put the worst possible interpretation on it. I was perilously close to doing that myself.

By the end of the meal, I was feeling tired and despondent and I couldn
'
t finish my dessert. My mother regarded me critically.
"
Wildberry pie is one of your favorites, and you
'
ve hardly touched it,
"
she observed.
"
You don
'
t look well, Lily. There are circles under your eyes. Haven
'
t you been sleeping lately?
"

The strange dreams haunting my nights were the very last thing I wanted to discuss.
"
I
'
m all right,
"
I answered.
"
There
'
s just been a lot going on.
"

"
You
'
ve been acting strangely ever since you met this Kent character. Now, don
'
t get angry dear. I only want what
'
s best for you, and I can
'
t help worrying. Talk to Stephen and make sure there
'
s nothing wrong. It
'
s very useful to have a doctor as a friend.
"

"
Fine,
"
I said, just to pacify her. I wanted to get home and go to bed. Perhaps Kent would call. But it was another half an hour before I could make a graceful exit. My mother insisted on packing up leftovers for me, throwing in enough groceries to last for a week.

"
Here you are,
"
she said, handing me a heavy shopping bag.
"
Is there anything else you need? Do you have the money to pay that insurance bill? I
'
d be glad to help out.
"

"
Thanks, Mom,
"
I replied,
"
but it
'
s okay. I can manage. I really appreciate the offer though.
"

I kissed her goodbye and made my way to the door. My mother opened it and walked me out to the car.

As I was about to get in, she exclaimed,
"
Oh, wait. I forgot your pie. I cut you a slice and left it in the refrigerator. Dear me, I
'
m getting so absent-minded. I hope it doesn
'
t mean anything serious. I would hate to think I
'
m getting too old to be left on my own.
"
She gave a tragic sigh.
"
I
'
ll just go back and get it.
"

Nice try, Mom
, I thought. The gratitude her generosity had produced in me dissipated.
"
You seem as sharp as a tack to me. You
'
ll be taking care of yourself for a long time to come, I
'
m sure. No, don
'
t make another trip. I
'
ll get the pie.
"

"
In the white container, on the top shelf,
"
she called after me as I went back into the house.

Opening the refrigerator, I bypassed the lone slice and took the remains of the whole pie. That was the least I deserved. While I was hiding it in a plastic bag, the telephone rang. It was the notoriously book-addicted Mrs. Heinlein.
"
Mom
'
s outside,
"
I told her.
"
If you can hold on, I
'
ll get her.
"

I was both amused and exasperated when my mother forgot her decrepitude in her haste to talk to her friend. She came up the walk at a pace belying any infirmity. Probably couldn
'
t wait to discuss the new man in her daughter
'
s life.

And what of that man?
I wondered as I drove back to my house. It was a beautiful evening, warm and clear. I passed hedges by the roadside teeming with fireflies, and my heart swelled with longing.
"
I
'
ll see him again soon. I know I will,
"
I said aloud.

But there was no word from Kent that night, and by the time I fell asleep with Cleocatra curled at my feet, despair was creeping into my heart.

I have found the dwarf and I hurry after him. He is a trusted advisor who will be able to help me.
"
Master Sennemut,
"
I call.

The little man turns around to look at me.
"
Yes, mistress?
"

"
Can you tell me where Kahotep is? I must speak with him right away.
"
My voice is trembling, and I know I look in a dreadful state. Indeed, I have the feeling that I am on the verge of breaking, like a creation of the glassmaker
'
s as it comes off the pipe. One breath too many, one lick of heat too much—or one thought of Kamenwati
'
s lips on Kepi
'
s—and I will shatter into so many pieces that I can never be made whole again.

Sennemut does not question me however.
"
Follow me, mistress.
"

I stumble along behind him, my eyes burning with unshed tears, my breath rasping in my throat. We make our way to the back of the temple where the House of Life is located. Only one thought keeps me going. I must find Kahotep.

And at last I do. He is seated reading a papyrus scroll. His look of welcome gives way to one of worry. As he comes forward to greet me, Sennemut discreetly withdraws. I am alone with my old friend, who asks me in concern,
"
Amisi, what has happened?
"

The pain is raging in my chest, and suddenly I cannot keep it in any longer. A great sob rises from within me, tearing at my throat. I crumple as the tears come, and Kahotep catches me.

"
Oh, my dear,
"
he says softly as the grief pours out. He rocks me back and forth like a child. I cannot speak, cannot think, for misery. After a time, I dimly perceive that I am gulping for air. Kahotep releases me from his arms and presses a cloth into my hands.
"
I will get you a cooling drink that will calm you. Perhaps it may offer some ease.
"

I wipe my face as he leaves me. I know I must tell him my story, but the words it will take are as dangerous and deadly as snakes. When Kahotep returns, I accept the cup he gives me.