Symphony of Light and Winter (15 page)

“Here,” he said, handing me a book.

I smiled but did not reach for it. “I was once told I shouldn’t accept gifts from strangers.”

He scoffed. “Strangers? You know my name and I know yours; the formalities have been satisfied.” He smiled, charming and devastating. “Besides, isn’t the best part of friendship the discovery of one another? Friendship doesn’t start once you know all there is to know, it’s the journey we share.”

I smiled at his wisdom and took the book. Beautiful, bound in leather with golden symbols resembling a delicate tree, the pattern tight and every branch different.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, examining the cover. Skimming my hands over the book’s shallow relief, I flipped through the pages. They were blank. The book caused the tips of my fingers to tingle, reminiscent of the electricity that existed when I shook Cyril’s hand. “It’s a journal?”

“Of sorts. I call it ‘The Book of Good Things.’ Only good, beautiful, and happy things should be written in it. If you ever worry you’ll suffer nightmares, write in the book all the things you want to dream of and it will turn all your thoughts to good.” His grin held a sly edge, but the brightness overshadowed it.

“Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ll have to give it a try. I’ve been fighting nightmares for a while. How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I think every beautiful lady should be able to form her own world, work it like clay, and mold it to what she wants. This book will help you do that.”

“Sort of like the power of positive thinking?”

“Something like that.” He winked.

I looked down and noticed mud on the underside of his pant leg where he sat on the ground.

“Oh no, your suit!”

I made to stand but slipped, and my hand came to rest on his thigh. His eyes widened and he sucked air through his clenched teeth, causing a hissing sound.

Was that shock in his features? Had I hurt him? “I’m so sorry…” As I went to pull away, with his arm on mine, I saw them. The same symbols as the book. They were a darker shade but still subtle, almost the color of freckles, and covered the surface of his forearm. I couldn’t help myself; I ran my fingers over the intricate pattern on his wrist.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s nothing.” He took a deep breath, carefully brushed my hand away, and then pulled down his sleeve. “Well, my Light, I have an important meeting to attend. Enjoy your book. Remember, only happy thoughts.”

“Only happy thoughts,” I agreed and added mentally
of you
. He rose and ever so lightly kissed the top of my head. He offered no reassurance I’d see him again—just smiled and walked away.

I blurted out, “Thank you.”

He swung a hand in the air as acknowledgment. As he drove off, I waved. The things he made me feel frightened me. Seeing him again was bittersweet. The good news, I got to see him. The bad news, if it was a delusion, I was in much deeper.

* * *

That night I took the book home and wrote one name in it.
Cyril
. I knew it was ridiculous. He was too old, too mysterious, too everything. I had only graduated several months ago and still had several months to wait until the winter solstice, my birthday. I’m sure all Cyril saw was a bizarre child who sat in cemeteries. He was probably a doctor, maybe even a psychiatrist. I’m sure his wife kept a tight rein on him, but that didn’t keep me from fantasizing about what his lips would taste like, or how his hands would feel on my skin.

I returned to the cemetery the next day and about thirty minutes after I found my place, the black BMW arrived. He parked in the same spot and unraveled himself from the car.

“Come on,” he said as he gestured in the opposite direction.

He was impeccable again. I rose from my cross-legged position, using my hands for support. Grass and mud coated my palms, and I wiped them on my pant leg. Moving toward him, he greeted me with a large welcoming smile. He reached his hand toward me and linked his fingers in mine. It was an intimate gesture and made me pause.

“Light, is something wrong?” His tone soothed.

“Ah…no.” The feel of his hand wrapped around mine made it hard to form thoughts. It was warm, and his fingers not as rough as expected. His hand dwarfed mine in size, but touching him felt right. It made me feel whole. The same sizzling sensation from the first time we touched was still there.

“My dry cleaner is furious with me. If I ruin another pair of slacks with mud, I’m going to need to find another. And Francis is very good. We wouldn’t want that.” The impish smile crossing his face made me blush. “I found a bench down the way a bit, in the memorial park. It will be a much better place to talk, and it will save my suit.”

I smiled and let him lead.

The bench, positioned at the center in a circular monument, was surrounded by cannons from a war fought long ago. The mountains were showcased against the horizon, and the wind blew stronger. Leaves fell and gusts of cool air swept them high, only to let them glide gracefully to the ground. Cyril motioned for me to sit.

“What is your last name, Cyril?” I blurted out with no segue, no pretense.

“Aristin, Cyril Aristin. And yours?”

“Linden Hill. So what brings you here? Doesn’t your family wonder where you are? What were you doing that first time I saw you? Are you some kind of doctor?”

He laughed and it carried on the wind. I almost expected it to be echoed in the valley. “You get right to the punch, don’t you? Let me see if I can answer them all.”

He shot me a devastating grin, inclined his head to me, and whispered almost seductively, “Do I get extra credit if I answer them in order?”

“Sure. But you better get to answering because the clock is ticking.”

“These questions are timed?”

I nodded.

“Right away then, my lady. You, no, looking for something—no.” A wicked smile grew on his lips, and he squeezed my hand that rested on his knee.

“Wait, that’s not fair. I can’t even remember what order I asked them in.”

His baritone laugh echoed with vibrancy and power. “My turn. Did you write in the book last night?” His thumb made small circles on the back of my hand.

It took much concentration, his touch distracting. “Yes, I wrote something in it.”

“Excellent. You made sure it was good?” His brow wrinkled while he waited for my response.

“Yes, I think so.”

“That’s all that matters. Now let me see, does anyone know you come here?”

“Why, are you planning to kidnap me?”

Horror crossed his face. “Gosh, no. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about how that might sound. I was interested in why you come here.”

“I come here to get away from…family trouble.”

“I’m sorry.” He squeezed my hand again.

“It’s not all that bad.” I squeezed back and gave a reassuring smile.

“You know, I think I’ve been too easy on you. I have a few more questions. Will you indulge me?” His grin made me chuckle.

“Sure, why not?”

“Do you have any hobbies? What do you study at school? Have you ever seen Clement Burleighes? When did you have your first kiss?”

“Oh, my… I don’t think I can remember all of them but let me try. Hobbies? Hmm. I like to journal, sing, and play the piano.”

“You play? So do I.”

“I’m not very good but I did get a scholarship to study music at Berklee.”

“Impressive, when do you start?” He slid his fingers between mine and caused marvelous chills to rush through my body. I shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“No, sorry.” In hope that I wouldn’t have to explain the tremor that possessed me, I hurried to answer his question. “I should have started this semester, but instead I’m taking a few classes at SHU.” I paused for only a moment to think, not leaving him time to ask anything further or question my explanation. “Have I ever seen Clement Burleighes?” With that one, I gave him a stare as if he grew six heads. “Of course not. He’s in a grave over there and he’s been dead since 1810. What kind of question is that?”

He shrugged.

“Is it so I wouldn’t balk at answering your last question? Ask something ridiculous so I won’t notice how embarrassing the last question is and answer anyway? Is that your plan?”

He smiled and it was one of a man who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Now that’s…” He shot me that flirty grin again, but in a mocking tone said, “That’s impressive. You saw right through me. So, your answer?”

I tried to turn the tables. “I still can’t remember which one of your answers corresponded with which question I asked.”

His tone turned serious for a moment. “If I answer them again will you actually answer the last question?”

“Yes.”

“No, I’m not a doctor or a lawyer or a politician, in case you wondered. I come here to see you. What little family I have doesn’t know I’m here. When you saw me the first time I was looking for a friend.”

The breeze picked up and gave me a chill; I glanced up at him. “You really came here to see me?”

He released my hand and instead wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer to his warmth. “Yes. It’s your turn.” His look encouraged me to continue.

I groaned. “As for a first kiss, I can’t really answer that. Unless you count under the monkey bars with Kevin, my neighbor, when I was five. I’ve never really wanted to kiss anyone. I guess that’s not true, but the opportunity never presented itself.” My face flushed.

“Who have you thought about kissing?”

I wanted to say
you,
but figured it wasn’t appropriate.

“Matt Williams. He’s a guy in my calculus class. We banter and I think he’s fun, but again, no opportunity.”

“So you would kiss him if given the chance?”

“I suppose. He’s fun. We’re making a T-shirt of me for him to wear because he likes to don himself in images of strong, independent people. I challenged him because he was wearing a Marilyn Manson shirt and I told him he should make one of me. He agreed and it’s all getting out of control.” I blushed.

“I agree with your Matt. I like a woman who can hold her own. It’s amusing and to think, you feign opportunity and here you are the little pickup artist.” He stared at me and rubbed his hand up and down my arm.

“Hardly.” I hid my eyes in embarrassment. The breeze blew again and I shivered.

He unwound his arm, rose, and removed his jacket. “Here, put this on.”

The jacket was high quality, heavy, expensive, and made me nervous. I inhaled the scent of musk and deep forest. Mixed with the smell of leather filling my nostrils, it was the epitome of masculinity. It was like being blanketed in him. Intoxicating.

“So, do you think your cleaner will fuss when he has to get the smell of me out of your jacket? Surely that’s worse than mud.”

Something happened then that became the subject of my fantasies for many nights. He leaned his head forward, and at the same time tilted it to rest on my shoulder. Tucking his nose into the crook of my neck, he inhaled. I trembled. The bristly feel of his stubble on my shoulder and cheek caused my breath to hitch. His warm breath blew against my neck, and his hand on my arm was hot. He exhaled ever so slowly. Every time his breath hit my neck I shivered. A tickle caused me to lean my head against his to hold it there.

He said nothing for the longest time and the sensation of his closeness, the feel of his skin against mine, my eager desire to be needed by him, settled in my stomach. My gut became a mixture of tremors and tightness, like going over a steep hill on a roller coaster. The sensation didn’t stop there. Wetness between my legs unlike anything I felt before called for him to touch me, to kiss me, anything to heighten the connection. His breathing labored.

Then he whispered, “Nonsense. I would bottle your scent and bathe in it if I could.”

He raised his head and looked me in the eyes. His pupils dilated and his eyes hooded.

I stared back, silently begging for anything he was willing to give me.

He inclined his head and I thought he might kiss me, but a frigid breeze caused me to shiver. He turned toward the wind and said, “Come, let’s get you back. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

I rose with him and we started toward his car with my hand in his. The leaves swirled up around our feet and I playfully kicked them on the way back. When we got to his car, I started to remove his coat.

He placed his hand on my shoulder. “You can keep it if you’d like.”

I continued to shrug out of the jacket and said, “Thank you, but it doesn’t match anything in my wardrobe.” I gave him a teasing smile. “Not to mention, it hangs past my knees and I need an extra foot taken off each arm. Besides, it’s a very expensive jacket and if I kept it, your cleaner would be out of a job.” I handed it to him.

He reluctantly took it and said, “Oh I almost forgot.” He reached in the inside pocket of the jacket and handed me a CD. It was Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons
. “I figured you might want to listen while writing in your book. Autumn is a good track for a day like today. Do you listen to much classical music?”

“No, other than the bits and pieces I play during my piano lessons. Thank you for the CD. Good night, Cyril.”

“Good night, Linden.” His words held a reverence as he bent to kiss the top of my head.

A melancholy mood took hold as I turned to leave.

“I could drive you home.” He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear.

“It’s probably best I walk, but thank you.”

I turned back around, as he called out again. “Oh, and Light…sweet dreams.”

Sweet dreams indeed. I smiled and started my journey home. I heard the door close but the car did not start right away. He had me so worked up I needed the walk. One final glance over my shoulder and I started counting the minutes until I could see him again.

Chapter Nine

Cabin

Cyril came to visit me almost every day after that. He missed our meetings when work called, but most days we spent several hours together. Each time he gifted me a CD with pieces he would task me to listen to, and then we would pick the scores apart.