The Drifter (9 page)

Carolyn leaned over to check a burner on the stove. She felt Joss pass behind her … felt his body lightly brush against hers. She straightened, a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Well, you'd think with this being our first guest, we could at least eat in the dining room,” Mom teased, waving Joss into a chair.

“This is fine,” Joss assured her. “Very homey.”

Carolyn served the soup and bread. “Does anyone need anything else?” she asked politely.

“Sit down and join us,” Mom said.

Reluctantly Carolyn pulled up a chair, but she didn't feel like eating.

“Carolyn could certainly use a friend,” Mrs. Baxter went on softly. “This move has been especially hard on her. Leaving all her old friends behind—”

“Mom,” Carolyn broke in quickly, “I'm sure all our problems are really boring to him—”

“We're only getting acquainted.” Mom sounded a little annoyed at the criticism. “And I'm sure Joss must know that awful feeling of having to leave people behind, traveling around like he does.”

The black eyes shifted to Carolyn's face.

“I've had to leave lots of people behind,” Joss said quietly. “And you could never be boring to me, Carolyn.”

Carolyn looked away, flustered.
What is he doing here? Why is she letting him stay?

“As a matter of fact,” Joss went on, dropping his eyes, studying his soup spoon, “I feel like I know you already.”

The room seemed to grow smaller around her—smaller—and smaller still—until there was just her and Joss and the echo of his voice in the silence and the sheen of his hair as it hung dark and loose around his face—and then his eyes lifted again—slowly—and she was caught there—trapped—something foreign and frightening and terribly wonderful fluttering deep, deep in her heart—

“—Carolyn?”

“Wh-what?” Carolyn stammered.

Her cheeks went pink as she realized everyone was staring at her. Even Nora, who had managed to slip back into the kitchen and was now lurking in a corner near the window.

“Daydreaming again,” Mom teased, and Joss smiled, flashing perfect white teeth. “I said when Joss is finished, why don't you take him upstairs and let him have his pick of the rooms.”

Carolyn nodded and pushed back from the table, hardly aware that Mom was still talking.

“I'm afraid they're all rather musty and damp. We only moved in yesterday, like I said, and we really weren't even planning on opening for another—”

“I'd like a front view,” Joss broke in. “Is that possible?”

Mrs. Baxter nodded. “Of course. The room right across from Carolyn.”

Again Joss's eyes slid smoothly to Carolyn's face, and for one crazy second she had the weirdest feeling that he already
knew
where her room was.

He smiled. “Perfect.”

“So in case you need anything—” Mrs. Baxter began, and Joss leaned forward, nodding.

“Yes. In case I need anything, I'll have Carolyn.”

Carolyn stared at him. Then she looked at her mother, but Mrs. Baxter was leaning back in her chair now, going on as though she'd known Joss for years. She glanced at Nora, but the housekeeper was gazing out the window and seemed strangely removed from both kitchen and conversation. Mrs. Baxter patted Carolyn's arm and motioned her to get up.

“Why don't you go on upstairs? There're fresh sheets and blankets in that closet outside the bathroom. Joss, I'll turn you over to Carolyn, but promise you'll let us know if there's anything else we can do for you.”

He didn't say anything as Carolyn led him to the second floor. They moved together through the murky halls, and Joss paused in each doorway, looking in, nodding to himself. The rooms felt clammy and chilled. As they passed Carolyn's, Joss stopped. For a long moment he gazed in, then finally he looked at her.

“Something happened in this house,” he said.

Carolyn stiffened slightly. She gave what she hoped was a casual nod. “It's an old house. I imagine lots of things happened here.”

“I mean something sad. Something … tragic.”

Carolyn shrugged. “Well … Hazel died, of course—she's the one who used to live—”

“No,” he said softly. “Not Hazel. And besides, your mother already told me she didn't die in the house.”

Carolyn kept her eyes on the floor. “I don't know what you mean.”

She could feel him staring at her. She could feel herself getting nervous and flustered, and she struggled to keep her face expressionless.

“It's a feeling I get,” he murmured. “About houses. They're a lot like people, really. They have emotions. They have secrets.”

She still didn't raise her eyes.

“I've heard stories about the house,” she mumbled at last. “But I don't know how true they are.”

“Well,” he said softly. “Maybe we'll find out.”

He moved away from her, catlike footsteps fading down the corridor.

“Ah,” she heard him say, “the way to the widow's walk.”

Carolyn's head came up. She turned to see him standing beside the attic door.

“How did you know that?” she demanded.

“Lots of old houses were built this way,” Joss said calmly.

“It doesn't have a key.”

“Good. We wouldn't want anyone getting hurt. It looked like it was in pretty bad shape from outside.”

Carolyn said nothing. He walked back toward her, and she instinctively stepped out of his way.

“The room over there,” Joss announced and pointed to the door across from hers. “Is that mine? You don't have to bother with the bed—I can make it up myself.”

Carolyn hesitated. She watched as he opened the door of the linen closet. He took out sheets and a blanket and two pillowcases. He smiled at her over his shoulder.

“Maybe you better take more blankets,” she said grudgingly. She wished he wouldn't smile at her, it made her nervous. “That room's colder than the others. The windows rattle all the time.”

“It's the north corner,” he said.

“Well … I'll help you with your suitcase. Where is it?”

“I don't have one.”

She'd started down the stairs, but now she stopped and looked back at him.

“You're traveling, but you don't have a suitcase?”

“It was stolen.”

She felt herself nod as if this were perfectly normal. She heard herself say, “Then I'll have to find you some clothes, I guess.”

“I can get some in the village later on.”

“Well … there probably wouldn't be much around here you could wear anyway—”

“Don't worry,” Joss said. “I have everything I need.”

He walked into his room.

Carolyn caught a glimpse of his smile, and then the door shut between them.

10

“M
OM,
I'
VE GOT TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT
—”

“What, Carolyn?”

“About—”

“What, honey? I can't hear you! All that noise!”

Carolyn halted in the kitchen doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She'd almost been afraid to go to bed last night, what with Joss in the house and the memory of her attic experience still fresh in her mind. But the night had been blessedly uneventful, and she'd slept like a rock. Now Mom was sitting at the table with papers strewn around her, scribbling in a notebook, while somewhere outside a steady sound of hammering vibrated the walls and floors.

“The brochure?” Mom yelled. She barely noticed as Carolyn sat down.

“What brochure?”

“
Our
brochure,” Mom said, pencil between her teeth. “Of course it'll have the name and address and rates and special features. But we should include points of interest, don't you think? Special things tourists might want to do while they're here.”

“You mean freeze to death? Stumble in the fog and fall off a cliff? Commit suicide from severe depression?”

“Stop being dramatic, Carolyn.”

“Okay, how about go deaf?”

“That's why Joss is here—to fix things. Goodness, you're grumpy this morning.”

“I'm not grumpy, I'm realistic. This place isn't Disneyland, Mom, or haven't you noticed?”

“Maybe if you could go into the village for me,” Mom went on, undaunted. “See it through fresh new eyes. What would attract you to come here, to want to stay in our guesthouse. Then we need to decide where to advertise. I've already thought of the stores here, but what about on the mainland—hospitals, universities, travel agencies, and—”

“Joss bothers me.”

“Does he?” Mom glanced up in alarm. “What'd he do?”

“Oh, I don't mean that. I mean he just … well …
bothers
me.”

Mom threw her a sly look. “I think he's kind of cute.”

He's very cute
, Carolyn thought grudgingly.
He's more than cute. He's handsome … mysterious
…

“He's … different.”
Can't you see it, Mom, can't you feel it
—
he's not like other people
—

“Carolyn, you're not going to be on intimate terms with every guest who checks into our house. At least, I certainly hope not.”

“Mom, come on—”

“Just do me this one favor today, okay? Just go into the village and make a list of all the interesting things to see and do.”

Sighing, Carolyn got up and started toward the front door. “Where are your keys?”

“I'd rather you walked.”

“Walked!”

“Well, for goodness' sake, Carolyn, it's only a few miles, and the sun's out. I want you to notice the
scenery!
”

“What scenery?”

“We need to describe our guest house in some sort of … you know—enticing environment. As a matter of fact, that has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Enticing environment.” She mumbled it to herself several more times and smiled. “So try to notice what's around you—”

“Fog.”

“And how it smells—”

“Like fish.”

“And colors—”

“Gray.”

“And impressions—”

“Horrible.”

“Really, Carolyn, this attitude of yours isn't getting us anywhere.”

Carolyn slammed the front door and stomped off, not slowing down until she was a good quarter mile down the road.

Then she thought about Joss.

She thought about his dark eyes, and his rugged looks, and the tiny gold hoop on his earlobe …

Like a sailor
, she thought.
Just like a sailor might wear
.

She stooped down and picked up a handful of pebbles. She drew back her arm and let them fly, watching as they sailed up and up into the pale morning sky and then rained down again into a field of scrubby grass.

“
A drifter, he was, looking for work. And she needed the help of a man around, and so she let him stay on
…”

“Ghosts,” Carolyn whispered to herself. “Impossible.”

And yet Joss had seen a woman on the widow's walk when he'd come to the house.
Even though it could have been a shadow.…

And she had witnessed a bloody scene in the attic.
Even though it was probably just a nightmare.…

And there had been that strange, unearthly voice calling through the fog.
Even though it was probably just the wind.…

A gull shrieked overhead, startling her back to reality. Carolyn watched it soar and circle out beyond the cliffs, and she envied its freedom. Squaring her shoulders, she walked on, even smiling a little as the sun warmed and brightened. Overhead the last gray clouds dissolved, and she tilted her head back and let her hair blow free.

She purposely avoided looking down as she rounded a sharp bend in the road—a place where the cliffs crowded dangerously close on the left. Shading her eyes, she peered into the distance and saw sails billowing out on the water, waves sparkling, birds reeling through the bright blue sky. Off to her right lay dark, tangled treelines and crumbling stone walls and an occasional cottage with smoke curling lazily above a shingled roof. From somewhere came the muffled bleating of sheep … the anxious bark of a dog. But still, the sea was ever-present—its salty taste filling the air, its steady pulse pounding and echoing on and on in all directions.

Carolyn suddenly realized that her
own
heart was beating in time to the sea, and she stopped on the road and let her eyes wander slowly in the direction of the cliffs. She could see a narrow ridge jutting out farther than the others, and she chose this spot to peer down over the side.

The wind was stronger here than on the road, whipping her hair about her face, stinging her cheeks with fine spray. Squinting, she gazed far, far out across the water—miles and miles of bottomless ocean. The coastline lay like a giant serpent, coiling back and forth between bare stretches of sand and walls of craggy rock. To Carolyn's surprise she saw a familiar rooftop silhouetted faintly in the distance, and she realized it was Glanton House. From this vantage point she could see how frighteningly close it really was to the cliffs. Like something shunned and alone … perched precariously at the very edge of the world.