Winter in Full Bloom (11 page)

“I didn’t know that. Interesting. But … why did you?”

“Why did I what, Love?”

I warmed inside and out. What was it about that single word that could shake a person senseless? Or maybe it was the person more than the word? “Why did you kid around so much when we first met? You seem different now.” For some reason, I had to know.

“You mean, why didn’t I act more normal?” he asked.

“Maybe, although I’ve never been certain what normal means. But it’s like you were trying to charm me and drive me away at the same time.”

“Very perceptive.” Marcus wagged his finger at me.

“I had to become perceptive for survival. I have a teenage daughter.”

“I thought you and your daughter had a perfect relationship.”

“It’s terrific, but not perfect.” I shook my finger back at him. “But you’re changing the subject.”

Marcus put up his hands like I was about to shoot him.

I wadded up my paper napkin. “So, you admit it then? That you were trying to attract and repel me like some confused magnet.”

“No. Maybe. The answer is yes, okay? Crazy, right?” he asked.

I pelted my wadded-up napkin at him. “Yeah, it is crazy.” Then I shook my head. “Looks like you’re just as messed up as I am.”

“
I’m not going to reply to that one
.” He looked at me and calmed his mirth. “Okay. All right. I’ll explain it. Why I wanted both to attract and repel you. There are parts of me that I keep hidden even from myself.” He raised his chin as if his answer had been too deep and mysterious for further explanation.

“Well, that’s the bargain-basement reply. Now give me an answer that’s worth something.”

Marcus flinched. “Ouch.”

I grinned.

“Okay.” He tapped his finger against his upper lip. “Well, it could be that I acted the way I did yesterday because I find it easier in the long run. I am a quirky man. Not always, but sometimes. And if I give you the full dose right away, like too many shots of espresso, and you don’t flee, then I know things have a chance. I mean, what if I came off perfectly normal to begin with?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “And you were interested, but then I shocked you later by suddenly doing something off-the-wall? I guess I like to lay my cards out all at once. Keeps things simple and honest, in a messed-up way.”

I waved my hand absently as I thought about it. “That’s kind of warped, but I think I actually understood what you’re saying, which is a little scary.”

Marcus grinned. “Satisfied?”

“For now.” I took a bite of the rose cream. I’d saved the best for last. “Oh, my. If chocolate could be a place, then this rose cream is the palace of Versailles.” I closed my eyes to heighten the sensation of taste. Ah, yes. I sighed and opened my eyes. “What does your hot cocoa make you think of?”

“Hmm, let’s see.” He took another sip. “Like all the best days of … winter.”

“Nice simile.” In more ways than one. I licked my fingers. “There will surely be rose creams at the banquet in heaven. Have you ever had one of these particular chocolates?”

“No, can’t say that I have.”

“Here’s the last bite.” Without overthinking my actions, I reached out to him and set the piece of cream-filled chocolate in his mouth.

His eyelids closed as he chewed. “Oh, you’re right. That is very good.” When he opened his eyes again he stared at me. “I have lunch planned for you, and I think you’ll really love the place. And then an entire afternoon of activities.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fun. But I guess we just had dessert before lunch.”

“Sometimes it feels right … doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Sometimes it just feels right.”

Marcus drank down the last of his beverage and with dramatic flair said, “Come, woman. Your City Circle Tram awaits.”

We left The Chocolat Shoppe and headed off in a different direction from where we’d come. When we’d made it to one of the bigger intersections, Marcus punched the button on the pole to get the traffic light to change.

It still amazed me to watch the clusters of humanity, seemingly countless nationalities—many of them young people—from all over the world, living out their lives in the city and adding to the unique and fascinating culture of Melbourne. “So, do you use the tram to get around the city? You don’t have a car?”

“Some people have cars, but I don’t …” Marcus paused. “Not since … well, you know.”

How could I have forgotten? His sister, the accident. “I understand.” I was sorry I’d mentioned his lack of a car, sorry to have taken a little of the shine from his smile.

We crossed the street together as the City Circle Tram rumbled by us. The streetcar was a quaint trolley, painted maroon and green with yellow and gold trim. It reminded me of the streetcars I’d seen as a child when Nanny Kate had taken me to Galveston on field trips—sort of a Norman Rockwell painting on wheels. “Why don’t you tell me something touristy about the tram.” Perhaps I could take Marcus’s mind off his burden, since I was the one who’d reminded him of the accident.

“Well, the tram is used by about three million passengers a year. How’s that?”

“Wow. That’s a lot.” The tram pulled to a stop a block ahead of us. “It looks crowded.”

“Maybe we can catch it,” Marcus said, “if we run.” He took my hand and together we raced along the sidewalk toward the trolley.

We weren’t going to make it. I could feel it. But it was so much fun running with Marcus I didn’t care if we made it or not. Sure enough, just as we got close, the tram eased away from its stop. Instead of groaning we laughed. Out of breath, I lowered my hands to my knees.

“Guess we didn’t make it. There’ll be another one along in a few minutes. No worries.”

I glanced at the people in the back of the tram.

A woman wearing a white dress and a jean jacket stood staring at me. She held up her palm to the window of the tram, not taking her eyes off me.

I gasped. It was as if I’d made it onto the tram and I was looking back at myself. “It’s Camille,” I said, holding out my palm to her. “Camille,” I screamed.

“What? You saw her?” Marcus asked.

I took off running after the tram, even though it was impossible to catch up. “Camille!” The woman didn’t remove her palm from the window. She stared at me, and I at her, until she became only a blur.

But on I ran. It was as if all the angst and loneliness of my youth, all the longing to be a family, the thrill of seeing Camille’s face, propelled my legs forward. Even though the race was futile.

People paused along the sidewalk. Cars slowed next to me. In spite of the breeze rushing in my ears I could hear Marcus. He was right behind me, running too.

But then the toe of my shoe hit something unmovable. I stumbled. My body sailed downward. I thrust out my hands, and they slapped the sidewalk. My right knee caught the bulk of the impact, and I let out a scream. The pain surged through me as if my flesh had been lit by fire. My body curled up into a ball.

Marcus was by my side in a heartbeat, kneeling next to me. “Where are you injured? Lily? Talk to me.”

I pointed to my right knee
and let out a moan. Falling down. I’m so good at it. Story of my life.

Marcus lifted the torn material, which revealed a bloody mess. “Let’s get you off the sidewalk.” He scooped me in his arms and set me down on a bench. “I’m going to take you to a hospital.”

“No, I’ll be all right. It’s not that serious. The pain will ease in a minute.” I looked down at my knee. “See? It’s more of a scrape than a cut.”

Marcus leaned forward and clutched the edge of the bench. When he looked back at me, he’d turned almost as white as the dress I’d seen on the woman in the tram.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

He seemed to breathe for the first time. “It’s my job to keep you safe here. I’ve failed you.”

Then I knew—he was reliving his sister’s accident. Why had I run?

I stood as wobbly as a newborn lamb, but I forced my legs to ignore the pain shooting through my knee. “I’m going to be shipshape. See?” My stomach lurched as I absorbed the pain.

Marcus studied me, his expression awash with what looked like defeat. “I’m supposed to be helping you, not—”

“I’m going to be fine.” I sat back down and gently turned Marcus’s face toward me. “All I need is to go to the hotel and clean up this wound. It was my fault for chasing that tram. Who would do such a silly thing? Well, no one would who has any good sense.”

I tried to chuckle, but it came out lame, as Julie would call it. “I should have remembered that if Camille is well enough to ride the tram, then she would be playing her flute along the promenade this evening. But it all happened so fast I just reacted. It was a shock to see her, and on the very tram I was going to board.” In fact, what if we’d arrived at the stop a little earlier? What if I’d finished up my chocolates a few seconds sooner? I stopped my mind games, since they would only make me miserable.

“So, it really was her?” Marcus asked.

I could barely hear him above the noise of the traffic. “Yes, I believe so. You were right. She looks like me. She really does.” Camille was no phantom after all. God really had made two of us. I’d seen her face. My identical twin—Camille Violet Daniels. How wonderful and strange to look into my own eyes. What would Mother say? Would she be happy?

But why hadn’t my sister at least made an attempt to get off the tram? Her expression wasn’t of shock and desperation and joy like mine. It was something else, and yet I didn’t know what that something else was exactly.

“I’ll make sure you’re right where you need to be this evening.” Marcus rested his arm behind me on the bench. “Surely Camille will be there on the promenade.”

“I hope so.” I leaned back against the comfort of his arm.

“But first, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“All right.” Marcus had gotten some of his color back, and I no longer felt woozy, so it seemed safe to head back to the hotel. But something uneasy stayed in my spirit, something connected to Camille’s expression.

As we rose to leave, I looked back down the line where the tram had disappeared and then glanced across the avenue, between the speeding buses and honking cars. There on the other side of the street stood a woman dressed in white. It was the same woman from the tram—my twin—and she stood staring at me like a lost child. But how had she gotten off the tram? “Camille?”

I turned to Marcus to tell him, but he’d already taken in the situation. “I’ll walk you over to her. She must have gotten off the tram and walked back.”

“Miss? Camille?” I hollered to her. “Please wait for me. I’m coming over.”

Marcus waited for a break in the traffic—maddening as it was—and then he helped me hop-hobble across the street to what I hoped would be my twin sister, the other mustard seed, who had only been a dream until this moment.

This was it. The moment
. What I’d come for. It was her. It had to be Camille—my dear sister. Once on the other side, Marcus and I stepped up on the sidewalk. I approached the woman as if she were a wisp of a mist.

“You got off the tram,” I said. “Thank you. I am so—”

“I told them it was an emergency, so they—” Her voice faded into a swirl of air. Except for the differences in our accents, Camille’s voice was like mine. It had a creamy quality like a spoonful of pudding.