Pieces of Hope (18 page)

My
strength is from heaven.

Ethan
picked up a comb from the dresser, and with barely a glance into the mirror
above it, dragged it through his hair. Despite efforts to the contrary, it
settled into its own disheveled path. Embarrassed to realize I was spying on
him, a nervous giggle—almost a hiccup—escaped me. I was on the verge of
admitting that I was intruding somewhere that I didn’t belong. But even as that
thought began to sink in, it wasn’t enough to make me leave. Just a slight blip
registering on my conscience radar.
      

Ethan
rattled his head, but unlike his behavior at the hospital, this time he looked
around the room with an obvious sense of purpose . . . as if he were looking
for someone.

For
me
? Again, I giggled.

Ethan’s
eyes narrowed. “Hope?” He stopped himself once, then asked again with less
reluctance. “Hope, is that you?”

“How did
you know?” I asked, but Ethan only rattled his head again.

It
brought to mind something that
Creesie
had told me
about people at the Station, something about it taking a lot of practice to
move like turtles. Did I move faster than the living without my body? I drifted
back to the sound of my mother’s voice, to the instant
 
before the car accident. Gnats in my
ears—that’s what it first sounded like—an annoying buzzing of insects. Was that
what I sounded like to Ethan?

I spoke
slowly, almost painstakingly, like a record barely spinning, dragging out each
sound as though it were a word in itself.

“
I’mmmm
. . .
heeeerrrre
. . .”

Ethan’s
eyes went wide. He fell back against the dresser. “Holy—!”

His
towel slipped, but he grabbed it and tucked it tight. I hadn’t meant to
frighten him, but it was funny nonetheless.

“That’s
not funny, Hope!” Ethan spoke in a low growl, rather than his usual deep, soft
tone. His jaw tightened same as I’d witnessed during his argument with June,
and I was thinking twice about the frightened part. Reading Ethan was apparently
not my best subject.

He
scowled, an unfamiliar line appearing between his eyes.

“Don’t
move! I’ll be right back,” he warned as he strode off. I made sure I didn’t
budge a centimeter. I froze on my knees at the end of his bed, both hands
tightly gripping the upholstered footboard. It was a bit too much; my fingers
slipped right through it.
     

When he
returned, he was dressed in dark green scrubs that made the color of his eyes
seem more intense than usual. With a huge sigh of relief, happy that he wasn’t
about to leave me anytime soon, I noticed that his feet were bare. My gratitude
doubled when I saw that the line on his forehead was absent, and his jaw had
relaxed. With great care, he eased himself onto the bed as if he feared he
might squish me. Propping an arm out to the side in a u-shape meant for me, I
crept up slowly beside him and curled my body around his.

“I’m
sorry about all that,” he said, looking off toward balcony. The sky was now a
blistering orange. It was going to be a sunny day. “But, in all fairness . . .
you did almost give me a heart attack.” His deep voice was pleasant, almost a
caress. I stifled a sigh.

How
eerie this must be for him—hearing my voice, but not seeing my body. I made myself
swear not to utter another peep today if I could help it. Not only did I not
want to put Ethan in another bad mood, but it was extremely difficult to speak
that slowly for any length of time. A person’s natural tendencies just sort of
took over.

“I’ve
been thinking,” he went on, his voice eager and full of future promises. “And I’ve
already decided where I’m taking you next. Don’t ask for hints. Think of it as
a double surprise.”

I gaped
at him, happiness causing a warm sensation to radiate from my toes to my head.
If he was making plans to see me while he was very much awake, then that meant
he believed that his dreams were real! Sensing my presence in the living realm
was one thing; believing I could follow him into his unconscious, quite
another.
   

“I think
you’d want to know that I had another dream about us in our other
lifetime.
 
I dream almost nonstop now,”
he said. “The guy is maybe nineteen or twenty. In one dream, he was wearing a
military uniform. I looked it up and it’s definitely from World War II. But the
girl—Oh, the girl . . .” Ethan got this dreamy expression on his face, and I
saw the girl in my head before he described her. “Shoulder-length blonde hair,
parted on the side. Dark red lips. And each time I’ve seen her she’s wearing a
dress.”

I bit my
lip to keep from speaking. A dress? No way was it me. Already guessing at my
reaction, he looked in my direction and laughed.
 

“I know
what you’re thinking . . . but I swear,” he insisted. “She
is
you. She’s got this way about her, funny and clever, and yet
smart and serious all at the same time, and she has this one expression that
reminds me of you.”

The sun
broke through on the horizon, and his golden green eyes glimmered in its light.
They held me captive me as he continued.

“I’ve
been thinking . . . What if she loved to climb? Wouldn’t that be wild? What if
you’re so great at it because you’ve done it before?” As his attention drifted
up to the dark-beamed ceiling, his tone grew nostalgic. “In that last dream, we—they—were
slow dancing to one of my favorite songs. I had a bad feeling in my gut when I
woke up. I could tell some sort of ending was coming.”

He gave
a slight shudder as if he were trying to stave off the feeling.

“Anyway,
there are too many similarities to brush off as coincidence. In the dream, the
song that was playing, well, it’s been a favorite of mine for as long as I can
remember. That might not be so strange except that I have no idea where I might
have heard her music. She’s an artist from the forties, long before our time—”

I
stiffened, recalling the song that was playing in the diner when I’d first
arrived, a song both familiar and unknown. To borrow on Brody’s limited
vocabulary, freakish came to mind.
   

“Before
the dreams,” he said, still staring off at the ceiling, “I couldn’t explain why
I loved music from that era. My Aunt Elisa chalks it up to an old soul thing.
At least with you here it’s starting to make sense . . .”

Old
souls, I mused thoughtfully. How many years before this lifetime had he and I
been bumping into one another? Or if the strength of my reaction were any
indication, how many years had we completely missed one another? Even now, with
Ethan right beside me, it disturbed me to think of us ever having to separate
again.

“Should
I guess that you’ve looked around the place?” he asked. Without thinking, I
nodded into his shoulder. “Don’t be too impressed,” he said. “It was all my
parents’ idea.”

He
pointed at his dresser, indicating the pictures I’d seen earlier.

“That’s
them at my recent graduation from Tufts
University—
Patric
and Madeline. Madeline didn’t like the idea of me
throwing money away on rent so she decided to buy this place. And Dad went
along for the ride, like he usually does.” He looked sideways at me, his eyes
full of mischief. “Between you and me, I’ve secretly wondered if that’s the key
to a long and happy marriage—”

Throaty
laughter escaped him, but I’d already guessed the punch line.

“You
know, going along with whatever your wife wants.”

If it
were possible, I would have reached up with my lobster toes and pinched one of
his tender inner thighs. Hard.

Still
laughing delightedly, he said, “I don’t know why I think that’s so funny. It’s
possible I’m delirious with you here.”

I curled
my toes under as my stomach did a little flip.

“Anyway,
just after graduation, Madeline found this old building.” His shrug seemed to
indicate this sort of thing happened all the time, but it went against my
natural impulses not to blurt out a response. What parent buys a building for
their twenty-year-old son? As if sensed my shock, he explained, “It’s nothing
special. Madeline’s family buys and sells real estate all over the world. Think
of it as the family business . . .”

He
studied the details of the room before speaking again.

“You
should have seen it a few months ago—holes in the walls, windows boarded up—the
place was trashed.” He flashed a smile. “Although my mother threw a fit, I did
a lot of the work myself. Now we have two levels completed, this one and the
first floor, where we’ve rented the space to this amazing Moroccan restaurant.”
I watched something brighten his expression. When he spoke again, his voice
dropped lower, softer. I could feel it vibrating on my skin. “I’ve been
thinking that after . . . that is so say, after you wake up, I’d like to take
you there for our first official date.” I watched a smile dance across his
face.

Then he
changed the subject.

“But as
for the refurbishing,
Patric
is really getting into
it. He’s an architect. At least, he used to be. My father’s retired now. But he
designed the overall space and then Madeline designed the interior. There’s not
a lot of me around here unless you checked out the storage closet and found my
camping gear and kayak. That and the books. My tastes and Madeline’s are worlds
apart. If you asked her though, she’d probably say she’s average. Down to
earth, even.” He laughed at some inside joke.

I looked
again at the woman in the photo. Earthy didn’t come to mind.

“My
father could get by in this life with almost nothing. He started off that way.
But Madeline. . .” He left his thought unfinished, pausing to drag a hand slowly
through his hair. Whatever he was dancing around, he almost seemed embarrassed
by it.

“I
suppose you’ll find out soon enough so now’s as good a time as any to tell you.
It won’t be so shocking when you hear it a second time.” He paused. “What I’m
trying to say is that my mother’s side of the family has more than their fair
share of—eccentricities.” He made a face as if the word didn’t feel right on
his tongue. Then, he said, “My family always thought of me as older than my
years. They didn’t understand me much, and I didn’t like to tell them much. As
a kid, it earned me the nickname, ‘little man.’”

Though I
had no idea where he was going with this, I smiled. Ethan had that old soul
quality to him.

“On my tenth
birthday, I cut a trip to South America short
because Madeline wanted to throw me a party. She got the entire family excited
about it. But I wasn’t quite as thrilled. I wasn’t great with people lavishing
attention on me. Elias Burr, my grandfather, was sent to interrogate me. He was
supposed to find out what my idea of the perfect gift was. The man was relentless.”
As Ethan thought back, he shook his head in disbelief. “In the end, all Burr came
away with was that I was an outdoorsy kid—a concept lost on my family—
indoorsy
was more their style. I told him as
little as possible—maybe talked about a recent fishing trip and saving for a
small boat someday. I think I even mentioned some countries I planned to visit soon
. . .” He laughed again, louder this time. “But, in a million years, I couldn’t
have guessed what was coming . . .
 

“On the
morning of my birthday, Madeline woke me up and announced that I had a special surprise
waiting in the driveway. I flew down the stairs, flung open the door, and was
struck speechless.”

I had no
idea what was so funny to Ethan, but the sound of it—the feel of it—was too
contagious to stop. Ever so quietly I laughed with him, anxiously waiting to
hear about this gift. But it took him several tries to stop laughing.

“My crazy
family had bought me a yacht, insisting it was, get this . . .
 
‘a small boat, perfect for fishing.’” He
whispered conspiratorially, “I guess the secret’s out . . . My family is
certifiable. Your boyfriend’s the only sane one in the bunch.”

Boyfriend?
Did that imply I was now the girlfriend? I beamed a smile at him.
         

Ethan
shifted as the alarm on his watch sounded, accidentally leaning into me as he
reached for it on the nightstand. I felt his body go rigid. Watched his eyes go
wide.
 

“Hope?
Is that you?” He tightened his fists and grimaced. My heart was pounding in my
stomach. “I. Feel. You!” He sounded out of breath. Excited. “I can feel the way
you feel about me. God, it’s so . . . intense!”

My
entire body instantly got hot and I vaporized from the bed, moving faster than
I was aware that I could move. I felt invaded, encroached upon, exposed. I
pressed my palms to my temples, trying to still the swirling in my head,
watching as Ethan struggled, for once, to breathe. Painted on his perfect face
was that wrenchingly innocent look I’d feared.

“Don’t
be embarrassed, Hope,” His voice was so raw it caused the hair on my arms to
rise. Then his eyes scanned the room—searching for me, I was sure of it. But
how
was the more obvious question.
Inexplicably, his gaze froze and his eyes found mine. “I can’t believe this.” He
looked away, down at the floor, pausing between words as if he were
experiencing something monumental. Painful. Or pleasurable. It was impossible
to tell which. “I was just looking right at you, wasn’t I?”

I pushed
myself farther into the corner and held my breath.

An
astonished smile erupted on his face. He took several steps towards me then knelt
down. Now, less than a foot from me, he raised his palm and dropped it. “You’re
right there, aren’t you?” He looked happily shocked, gaping at me with
wide-open eyes. “You have such an energy about you. How did I ever miss
it?”