Upon a Mystic Tide (28 page)

“Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?”

“Doesn’t matter. Truth is truth, ridiculous sounding or not.”

Essentially the same thing Tony had said. They both had a point, but she didn’t have to like it. “You’re right. Go dry off and we’ll talk.” She’d lock her door and not open it until Jimmy had her car back in running condition and parked outside in the driveway. And he’d be quick about getting it there or she’d nag him more than Beaulah Favish nagged Sheriff Cobb.

“Liar.” John went stiff-shouldered. “You know, Bess, sometimes you’re the most annoying woman I’ve ever met. You supposedly loved me once. Enough, damn it, to marry me. But even with that between us, you’d rather lie to me than to tell me the truth. I just don’t understand you.”

“I don’t understand you, either. I never have.”

“I loved you, woman. What more did you need to understand?”

“You never loved me. You said you did and for a while, I believed you did. But you didn’t.”

“I’m not going to argue the point with you. I said I did, I did, and that’s that. The subject is closed.”

She lifted herself to her knees on the bed. Putting weight on her scrape, she grimaced and fell back onto the pillows. “You’re very good at that.”

He let go of the doorknob and put his hands on his hips. “At what?”

“Closing subjects.” She waved an arm in frustration. “Do you realize we’ve been married for seven years and I’ve seen your sister Selena exactly twelve times, your Uncle Max half that many, and not once have I ever seen either of your parents?
Not once.
What kind of man won’t introduce his wife to his parents? Won’t even discuss them with her? I don’t even know your mother’s name, Jonathan.”

Bess’s self-esteem took a nosedive. What kind of man? One clearly ashamed of his wife. What other reason could there be for distancing her from his family?

“You married me, not them. And you walked out on me six years ago. So what’s the difference?”

“Here we go again.” No. No, they were not going to rehash old news. “Did your parents disapprove of you marrying someone beneath you financially? Was that it?” Damn it, now she was going to cry again. She just didn’t understand it. She’d never been a weeper. Her father would have been disgusted, her mother mortified. And neither of them would have spoken a word to her for a month. Maybe two.

“You’re right,” John’s eyes glittered, dark and angry. “The subject is closed.” He grabbed the knob and tried to jerk the door open.

It wouldn’t budge.

John tried again. The knob was turning, and the clicking sound proved the slide-bolt was freeing from the jamb. So why wouldn’t the door open?

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s stuck.” Clamping his jaw, he looked at the thing. Didn’t appear swollen and he failed to see any reason it shouldn’t open. But it wouldn’t. His gaze lit on the brass hinges. No problem. If the knob wouldn’t work, the hinges would.

He looked around for something to work with, rifled through the desk drawer and, in the long center one, he found a letter opener. It wasn’t a screwdriver, but it would do.

“What are you doing?” Bess scrambled off the bed and stood beside him.

Crouched down at the door, he removed the lower pin from the hinge, then stretched up to remove the top one. “The door won’t open, so I’m taking it off the hinges.” He couldn’t talk about his parents. He’d never had the luxury of doing that with anyone. And if Bess ever had loved him, she’d have respected that.

“It won’t do any good.”

The top hinge pin popped out. He braced to catch the door. It didn’t shift so much as a fraction of an inch.

“John.” She touched his arm, her hand trembling. “Jonathan, it’s not the door.”

“What?” John darted his gaze to her.

“It’s Tony.” Bess lowered her voice to soften the blow. “I feel him here, and I think he means for us to stay put.”

You’re exactly right, Bess, I do.

John and Bess locked gazes.

Tony?

Yes, Jonathan?

Would you open the damn door, please?

Of course.

Now?

No, Bess. Not just yet.

When?

That depends on the two of you.

Oh God.

Bess, you can stop shaking like a leaf I’m not going to hurt you. Jonathan was right about that. I mean you no harm.

What are you going to do to us, then?

Nothing.

Then why keep us locked in here?

You need a little time together, Jonathan.

Terrific. He’s encouraging again.

What?

Encouraging. I call it nagging, but he takes offense to the word. He “merely encourages,” he says.

That’s right, I do.

So we’re staying here until we’re encouraged. Well, I’m so glad you two cleared that up for me.

How long you’re here, Jonathan, depends entirely on the two of you.

What do you mean?

I’m encouraging you, as Bess suggested.

To do what?

Jonathan, don’t shout at him. He’s a ghost, for God’s sake. Do you really want to tangle tempers with a ghost?

To do what?

Ah, that’s much better. Bess is right. I do strongly oppose shouting. Hattie’s father was a shouter and it upset her immensely.

You know Miss Hattie?

They were engaged, Bess. Tony died during the war.

Bess gasped.

Are you going to faint?

No. No, it’s not that.

Well, what is it?

It’s that real love—like the legend of Collin and Cecelia.

A little different. They got to spend their lives together. For Hattie and me
 . . .
it’s been different.

But you’re here. You’re still here.

I love her.

Yes. And you made her promises that you’ve kept.
Bess slid John a reprimanding look.
Even dead, he kept his promises.

Bess, don’t be hard on Jonathan. Sometimes promises perceived as broken aren’t.

What?

Sometimes the person who promised is doing his best to keep his word. It doesn’t look like it, and maybe you don’t feel as if that’s the case, but it is. Sometimes there are extenuating circumstances. Wouldn’t you agree, Jonathan?

John looked away, his jaw carved of granite.
Maybe. Maybe not. Look, we’ll try to keep that in mind—your opposition to shouting. So what’s the plan?

The plan?

What do we have to do to get out of this room?

It’s really simple. You and Bess should have no difficulty whatsoever. All you have to do is to talk to each other.

We’ve been talking.

As Jonathan said earlier, Bess, truth is truth, and what you’ve been doing is shouting and evading the truth.

I get it.

You do? What does he mean, Jonathan?

We’ll be stuck in here ’til hell freezes over.

That’s absurd. Ridiculous. Tell him it isn’t so, Tony.

I can’t.

What?

Quit shouting. He’s a ghost, remember?

Sorry.

I have every intention of letting you out.

When?

When?

Just as soon as you both get civilized.

Good grief.

Like, I said. ’Til hell freezes over.

Jonathan, I don’t appreciate the innuendo that I’m—

Innuendo? I said it straight out, Bess.

I insist you apologize for it, too.

Civilized!
Tony shouted to gain their attention.
Both of you!

Now you’ve done it, Jonathan Mystic. He’s furious.

Me?

Yes, you.

I suggest you stop slinging blame and think about my message. I told you it was significant, Bess.

What message?

His “leap upon a mystic tide” one.

I heard it on the radio, remember? Do you know what it means?

No.

Do you, Jonathan?
Tony asked.

No.

Then you’ll both stay here until you do.

“You can’t be serious!” Bess spoke aloud. “Tony? Tony, don’t you leave us here.”

John waited for it to occur to her that Tony had gone. John had recognized it instantly, the second he could no longer hear Bess’s voice inside his head. Tony had told John he could arrange three-way conversations, but John hadn’t realized that during them he and Bess would be able to communicate with each other telepathically.

“I don’t believe this!” Bess groused, began pacing and verbally blasting all men.

A minute passed, then two, and then two more. And still she showed no signs of winding down. Surprised, John lay down on her bed and watched her pace the floor, shout curses on Tony’s head—and more than a few on John’s own. Her eyes glittered a blue that put the ocean to shame. Her face flushed a ravishing pink that captivated him. Riled and unmasked, she was just as he’d always imagined she would be: magnificent.

And still so beautiful that looking at her hurt.

Bryce had said she had changed. And, God, had she. Never once in their marriage had he seen her so loose with her emotions. In bed, she’d been warm and passionate, clearly loving and, at times, lusty, but even then she’d held a part of herself back. Out of bed, she’d been all cool and sleek, cashmere and eel-skin. But now, now, she was feisty, fiery; totally adorable—and even more desirable.

And just once before she divorced him and married that sorry Spaniard, John had to see if she’d changed in bed as well as
out of it. Just once, he had to see her in his arms, them loving, and her not holding back.

Just once, he had to know that, to her, he held value.