You're Still the One (22 page)

“Yes,” Grant said. “It’s over. I moved into the club. Not glamorous, I know. And I don’t have a college degree. Probably not what you’re looking for in a guy.”

“Grant—”

He pulled her away from Mae Lin, away from everyone, to a tiny unoccupied space against the wall and drew her to him. “Rebecca,” he whispered. “Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca. You’re here. You’re really here.” He traced her lips with his finger. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” And then he was leaning in. And then he was kissing her. Their bodies pressed together so tight, a feather couldn’t have slipped between them. And then it all started to disappear, all of it, and they were moving in unison, still kissing, heading for Mae Lin’s bedroom. And although Rebecca wished there was any other place to go, she had originally been told she could use the bedroom. And she couldn’t think of any better use for it. Images flashed through Rebecca’s mind—the cemetery, the fat yellow moon, Mae Lin’s red feathers. Red feathers. Rebecca pulled away from Grant.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, not here, not now—”

Mae Lin stood on top of the coffee table with a microphone in her hand. It screeched when she turned it on, and silence descended upon the room.
The one with the red feathers will betray you.
Oh God, why hadn’t she seen it?

“Has everyone met my new roomie?” Mae Lin shouted into the microphone. “Rebecca. Rebecca like the club. Rebecca like the mom.”

Rebecca turned to Grant. “I have to tell you something.”

“Who likes secrets?” Mae Lin belted out.

The guests—they did. They loved secrets. They laughed and clapped and encouraged her. Who didn’t love delicious secrets? Tell us!

“Rebecca has a secret. Don’t you, Rebecca?” And then Rebecca spotted what was in Mae Lin’s hand. She was holding the picture of Miles. And Grant was trying to have a look at it, like everyone else.

Rebecca took her hands and put them on Grant’s beautiful face, gently pressing until he looked at her. “Miles,” she whispered. “His name is Miles.”

Grant was still smiling at her; he was still a man who wanted to love her. “I remember,” he said. “Your son.”

“Yes,” Rebecca said. “My son. And yours. He’s your son, too.” There was a split second of confusion. The smile faded slowly.

“Miles!” Mae Lin bellowed. “Rebecca and Grant have a son named Miles. Isn’t he handsome? Like his father?”

Grant stumbled back. His expression gutted Rebecca. It wasn’t anger. It was worse. He looked absolutely terrified. And then he recovered. He moved in on Mae Lin and swiped the picture out of her hands. Tears ran down Rebecca’s cheeks as she watched Grant take in the face of his son for the first time. She stepped up to face Grant as her life with Miles flashed before her. Bringing him home from the hospital in a lavender blanket that belonged to her as a baby, feeling the soft, heavy weight of him in her arms. Looking into his big, curious eyes, his little smiling lips. His smell. His coo. His first step, his first word—
mama
. How big that trumpet was in his five-year-old hands, how it all but obscured his face when he played it. Elementary school, high school, he grew up so fast. She wanted it all back. Not for her; for Grant. She wanted to give it all to him. She was a liar. She’d kept father from son.

She couldn’t breathe. Tears were running too fast, her throat was starting to close, and she could feel her body shaking. When Grant finally lifted his eyes and looked at her, all she could manage was the barest of whispers.

“I was sixteen,” she said. “My father was furious. He threatened to make your life hell. But still. I tried. Your phone number—it was smeared—I couldn’t read it. So I waited. But. You never called.”

Grant nodded solemnly. Slowly he pulled something out of his pocket. It was a torn and dirty napkin. Rebecca knew what it was immediately. Through the blur, she recognized her scrawl.

“I don’t always carry this around,” he said. “But I brought it tonight. To show you. Why I never called.” Gently he reached up to wipe away the tears still rolling down her cheeks. She grabbed his wrists and held them.

“Every day,” she said. “I thought of you every single day. I wanted you to know. I wanted you to be there. Please, don’t hate me. I think it would kill me. I really think it would kill me.”

Grant lifted her chin with his finger and stared into her eyes. “I could never hate the mother of my child,” he said. “Never.” Then, still holding the picture, he took her hand. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

Rebecca, heart swelling in her chest, held on to Grant’s hand. He knew. He was still here. He was still talking to her. He was still touching her. She would follow him anywhere.

Even though the parade was long over, they found themselves in the middle of a giant mass of still-partying, squirming people. Grant kept a firm grip on her hand, which helped to somewhat lessen Rebecca’s fear that they would be crushed to death and buried in a grave of glitter, feathers, and beads. Grant had the framed picture of Miles inside his jacket, and as they maneuvered through the crowd he kept his free hand on it the entire time. When they came to a spot where they literally could not move, Grant pulled Rebecca into him and wrapped his arms around her. Now the picture was sandwiched between them, and Rebecca could feel it against her chest. Music, voices, stomping, and cheers filled their ears. The air smelled smoky and sweet, the heat clung to their skin. There was something else in the air—the unmistakable feel of magic. They were magic together. He gazed into her eyes, and then slowly he came in for another kiss. It reverberated through her entire body. Then suddenly, from behind, they were shoved. Rebecca felt a thump, and then something sharp pierced her chest.

“Let’s get out of here,” Grant said. He pulled the picture away, then stared at the little drops of blood on the cracked glass. Rebecca looked at her chest, and to her relief, she’d been barely grazed. Grant, too, had been pricked.

“Are you okay?” Grant said.

“We have to get out of here,” Rebecca replied. “Now.” Without further discussion, they began to push their way through the throbbing mass of bodies. From out of nowhere, a hand came toward Rebecca’s neck, wrapped around her beads, and yanked them off. She didn’t mind the beads, but her locket—she’d been wearing her heart-shaped locket, the first necklace she ever made, the one with petals from the rose Grant gave her—

Grant navigated them through several side streets, and slowly but surely the crowds were less and less. “This way,” he said, pulling her down a narrow alleyway. It led to a tiny park surrounded by a black iron fence. In the center was a fountain where two stone cherubs playfully squirted water out of their mouths. Three street lamps illuminated their shenanigans in a soft glow. Rebecca and Grant sank onto a bench and watched shadows play at the base of the fountain. The air was starting to cool, but the last traces of humidity still clung to their skin. Grant set Miles’s picture down and touched the spot above Rebecca’s breast where the glass had nicked her. His touch sent an electric thrill through her and she could almost hear the cherubs tittering.

“Back there,” Grant said with a tilt of his head, “you were clearly frightened.”

“The high priestess,” Rebecca said. “I saw her a few days ago.” Grant’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt. “She remembered me, Grant. She remembered
us
.”

“I hope you don’t believe all that stuff about curses—”

“We’ve lived it for twenty-one years, haven’t we?”

“No,” Grant said. “It’s just life, Rebecca. You were only sixteen. How else was it going to end?” Grant took both of her hands in his, then kissed each of them.

“But she said things. Things that have come true. You will draw blood. You will be crushed—”

Grant touched the spot on her chest again. “Well, if this is the blood—it’s not too scary, is it? Nothing to worry about. And if you need a transfusion, lovely lady, I’m right here.” Grant rolled up his sleeve and winked.

“There was more. She said—my heart would be ripped out of my chest. And my locket—my heart-shaped locket, the first necklace I ever made, with petals from the rose you gave me—was just ripped off back there!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

“It’s not. She said—if we get back together—I’ll cause the death of someone.”

“Oh, Rebecca. She really got to you, didn’t she?” He squeezed her hands tighter. “Listen to me. That woman doesn’t have power over life and death and neither do we. You are not cursed. And no offense, but I just found out I have a son. I want to know everything about him. Okay?”

“Okay,” Rebecca said. “But be warned. There’s nothing I love talking about more than Miles.”

“And there’s nothing I’d rather hear about.”

So, beginning with his birth, Rebecca began to talk. As the stories poured out of her, the moon revealed more and more of itself, until it was a fat, shiny globe against the black sky. And then, somehow, as she talked, the sky began to lighten, and the moon faded to a pale yellow, then just a whisper of white as the sky around it brightened. Neither of them knew how it was possible, but they had been talking about Miles the entire night. By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, Rebecca’s voice was hoarse, and they were both exhausted. Grant put his arm around her, then dropped his head.

“You’ve had to do it all alone,” he said. “You had to sell your house. I’m the father. I should have been providing all these years.”

Guilt thumped through Rebecca. “It’s my fault,” she said. “It’s all my fault.”

Grant put his hands on her shoulders. “Listen to me very carefully,” he said. “The past is the past. I don’t blame you. I will grieve the years I’ve lost, but I will never blame you. And more than that, I will rejoice in what I’ve been given. A second chance with you. A son. Nothing else in this world matters. We’re blessed, Rebecca. We’re thrice blessed.”

Rebecca moved out of Mae Lin’s apartment the following morning. It was easy to do when you were living out of a suitcase. She wasn’t so much moving out as “fleeing the scene.” Rebecca correctly suspected that Mae Lin would be nursing the mother of all Mardi Gras hangovers, and no good-byes would be necessary. They had never become true friends, so Rebecca didn’t see the point in talking through her feelings of betrayal. And in a way, she was grateful. Grant knew the truth, and he’d not only taken it remarkably well, he was excited about having a son. Now all she had to do was tell Miles. And the only way to do that was face-to-face.

So Rebecca did the only thing she could at the last minute: she moved into her jewelry shop. Grant wanted her to stay with him at the club, but understood when Rebecca said she wanted to take things slow, do it right this time. There was just enough room behind the counter to roll out a sleeping bag or some such. She would close the shop early today and buy one. Then she’d start the process of looking for a place to stay all over again. If she didn’t find a place in a few days, she’d stay at a hotel. She kind of liked the idea of nesting for a few nights in her little shop, and she just wanted some peace and quiet where she could relish every moment of that night with Grant.

Rebecca laughed to herself as she unrolled her new sleeping bag and took the plastic off her new giant pillow. This was living; this was an adventure. She even had a small reading lamp and a paperback thriller. The best part of the evening was when Miles called and told her he booked a ticket; he would be here in three weeks.

Three weeks. She couldn’t wait to tell Grant. She was so excited she couldn’t fall asleep, and the paperback couldn’t hold a candle to her real life. What a change. And for some reason, she couldn’t get the high priestess out of her mind. She saw her face every time she closed her eyes. And then, something else took shape. A necklace. Rebecca often created pieces from dreams. But this wasn’t a dream—she was awake. And she saw a necklace that she knew was meant for the priestess. It was a fragile gold chain made with a live rose. It would have to be encased in something, preserved forever. Like her locket? No, the rose had to be visible. Somehow she knew this was what she had to do. A peace offering. Would this be enough to cure the curse? It didn’t matter; she would do it regardless. Once the decision was made, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

 

The necklace came together perfectly. It was as if she was guided, as if it was meant to be. She found a beautiful crystal and cut a small hole in the top. Then she crushed several rose petals into tiny specks of blushing dust and poured them into the crystal. Finally she sealed the hole so the petals couldn’t escape. It looked like a miniature snow globe raining tiny shards of rose petals. She added some liquid that kept the tiny petals floating in the crystal. It was one of the most beautiful and unique pieces Rebecca had ever made, and even though she suspected she could make a fortune by making more and selling them en masse, she wasn’t going to do it. This one was meant only for the priestess. Rebecca was actually looking forward to giving it to her. Was it Grant making her feel this open and loving?

She was in love; that was the secret to everything. Mankind had certainly advanced on every front since crawling out of the sea, but love was still the same primitive force it had always been.

Grant was at her shop the first thing in the morning with powdery doughnuts and coffee. They couldn’t stop looking into each other’s eyes, and laughing, and gently touching each other wherever and whenever they could. Rebecca loved the expression on Grant’s face when she told him that Miles was coming to visit. He picked her up and swung her around the shop. Then, because she was still so full of Miles, she showed him the beautiful card he’d given her for her birthday, the little street scene of the French Quarter. Grant read it, then looked quizzical.

“Are you sure he doesn’t know about me?”

“Why would you say that?”

“I assume you read this,” he said.

“ ‘I hope you find everything you’re looking for,’ ” Rebecca said from memory.

Grant handed her the card. “Look closer.”

Rebecca read it, then gasped. “ ‘I hope you find every
one
you’re looking for.’ ” She looked at Grant. “I swear—I thought it said
everything
.”

“What do you think now?”

“My mother,” Rebecca said softly. “It has to be. She’s always felt bad. She must have said something to him. She must have. And still—he never pressured me. He’s gentle and protective. Like you.”

Grant smiled. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that. Is it strange that I’m already proud? I mean, I know I have no right—”

“You have every right,” Rebecca said. She kissed him. “You have every right.”

“Three weeks,” Grant said. “I guess we’ll find out then.”

Soon they were in each other’s arms. She loved smelling his cologne, feeling his heartbeat against her, having his strong arms around her. She felt safe. She felt like she was home. It wasn’t long before their soft caresses turned into passion. Then they were all over each other. Lips, hands, bodies, and voices united in soft little moans, as together they fell to the sleeping bag.

Rebecca wondered, very briefly, if they would ever make love in normal places. She couldn’t care less. He was undressing her too slowly. She urged him to hurry. He laughed, and then gently pinned her hands above her head to show her he was in control, and he was going to take his time. By the time they were in the space where it was just his skin against hers, he entered her and they found their own rhythm as the city began waking up around them. Magic. It was magic. Afterward, they lay for a long time, just wrapped in each other, just being.

 

 

Every step of the way, Rebecca expected something bad to happen. A potted plant to fall on her head. The sky to open up and thunder down. The little box with the red bow to be swiped out of her hands.

When none of the above happened, and she was standing outside the Voodoo Shop, Rebecca then feared that the shop would be closed, or the old woman would be gone, or she would refuse to see her. But the doors were wide-open, just like every other time she’d been there. Rebecca stepped inside.

And there, sitting in a rocking chair in the main room, was the high priestess. She was staring at the door as if waiting for someone, perhaps Rebecca, to walk in.

“You,” the high priestess said in a tone that made Rebecca want to turn and flee.

Rebecca took a breath and forced a smile. Then she stepped forward and held out the box.

The priestess stopped rocking. “What is it?” She sounded alarmed.

“A gift,” Rebecca said. “For you.” Without taking her eyes off the box, the old woman reached out with a trembling hand and petted the top of the box with her fingertips. When she looked up at Rebecca, she had tears in her eyes. Rebecca was so startled she almost dropped the box. And then a wave of shame crashed over her. The high priestess wasn’t some kind of witch. She was a lonely old woman. Rebecca bridged the distance between them and knelt down by the rocking chair.

“It’s one of a kind,” Rebecca said. “Just like you.”

With the smile of a child, the priestess took the box in both her hands and held it like a precious baby bird while she stared at it. Then she tore into it with surprising speed, held up the necklace, and gasped upon seeing the crystal with the rose petals. She watched the petals dancing inside. Slowly, she looked at Rebecca.

“It’s my anniversary,” she said. “How did you know?”

“Your anniversary?”

“My lover. We met this very day. Sixty years ago. He called me his Rose.” She clutched the necklace to her chest. “My darling,” she said. “My darling, you remembered.”

Rebecca gently took the necklace and placed it around the old woman’s neck. The high priestess reached out and took her hand. She squeezed it so hard Rebecca knew she’d have marks, but she didn’t cry out or pull away. It was as if the woman were holding on for dear life.

“True love lives beyond the grave,” the priestess said. “It really and truly does. I’m not alone. I’ve never been alone.” Then she began to chant in a language Rebecca couldn’t understand, all the while touching the crystal and rocking faster and faster. Rebecca pulled her hand away and stepped back. Was she having some sort of breakdown? Then just as quickly, the rocking eased up, the chanting stopped, and the high priestess began to quietly hum.