5
LI
I hadto force myself not to run as fast as I could. Away from Fiona. The one and only woman who would ever penetrate my heart. The only woman I would ever love. As long as I lived, there would never be another.
It nearly killed me to walk away. She loved me. I’d suspected her feelings had grown and changed since my return from Chicago, but I’d not been sure. I’d hoped she didn’t care for me as I cared for her. Now that I knew the truth, it made me feel more despair instead of less. She would now suffer as I did.
Grandmother waited for me in the kitchen. We’d only moved into our new house six months previously. I don’t know how she felt, but I still found it strange to take her home when our home had been here for most of my life.
My chest ached at the sight of her hunched over at the table where the staff ate most of their meals. Small and frail, her shoulders had started to curl inward as if she were slowly creating a shell around herself. Grandmother had always been a small woman. However, her strength physically and mentally had never made her seem such. She was a giant in my eyes. Seeing her this way did not diminish that view but did remind me of the transient nature of this life.
She looked up as I approached. “You smell of the outside air.”
I put my hand on her bony shoulder. “I was sitting outside for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet.” Knowing she would approve, I added this last part. Grandmother was one who encouraged the noting and enjoyment of the smallest of pleasures. I’d never asked her why. I assumed it was because of her meager beginnings. Near starvation has a way of putting all of life’s woes into perspective.
“I’m ready to go now.” She rose to her feet. I could almost hear the creaking of her bones as she straightened as best she could and linked her arm with mine.
“Did you enjoy the evening?” I asked as I escorted her across the kitchen to the door. It would take a while to climb the stairs, and I wanted to give her the impression we had all the time in the world. Even though I wished I were already home in bed. The darkness would have to be my friend. Without Fiona, night and day would be equally dark. I yearned for my bed where I could wallow in my misery without the fear of watchful eyes. My grandmother and Fiona had eyes that saw all of me. They were hungry for the view of me, too. Not in a way that made me feel as if my bone marrow had been sucked dry but in the way that fed me, filled me with purpose. The two of them were the notes to the everyday music of my life. Without them to anchor the melody, I wasn’t sure how I could survive.
I needed to, though. Grandmother was almost eighty years old. She would be leaving me soon. Fiona would go to Paris. She would come back, I both feared and hoped, with plans to marry a nobleman. Don’t ask me why I thought this. But I knew somehow. I should have been preparing for the time when Fiona no longer needed me, no longer looked at me with eyes that shone with love, that longed to remain upon me. I should never have entertained the idea that we could be together. What was I thinking?
Grandmother and I made our way through the snow to my car. The car I’d been so keen to buy, only to find out all the wealth in the world didn’t make up for the absence of love.
I held open the door and aided her into the passenger seat. Once I had a blanket covering Grandmother’s legs, I jogged around the car, anxious to get away before anyone could waylay me. No such luck. Cymbeline Barnes, on the arm of her husband, called out to me. “Goodnight, Li.”
As Grandmother lowered her window, I lifted a hand to wave. She was Cymbeline Olofsson now, I reminded myself. The happy wife of one of the finest men I’d ever known. Their union had made us all happy. Spirited Cymbeline with steady Viktor. The perfect match.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Wu.” Cym broke free from Viktor’s arm to crouch near the car’s window, speaking to my grandmother. “Thank you for coming. It wouldn’t have been right without you.”
“Thank you, Miss Cym. It was my pleasure.” Grandmother’s weathered hand patted Cym’s soft skin, milky white under the moon.
“Lizzie and Mama miss you terribly at the house,” Cym said. “But we’re all happy to see you resting more.”
“I hate resting.” Grandmother lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “But these old bones tell me otherwise.”
Cym rose tall and looked at me over the top of the car. “Li, the new song was beautiful. Perhaps my new favorite.”
“Thank you.” I’d written it for Fiona’s birthday present and had played it for her tonight on the piano in their sitting room. No words, just music.
“However, the music made me sad, so forlorn. Not for dancing.” Cym watched me with eyes so like her sister’s. Only they were the eyes of a competitor. A woman who would catch the world by the tail and swing it for as long as she wished. Not like Fiona, who would take the world into her lap and love it with her soft musical hands.
“I could write dancing songs, too. One for your birthday, I suppose.”
Cym laughed that throaty laugh that made most of the men in Emerson Pass weak in the knees and wishing they could murder Viktor in his sleep. “I’d be honored. Remember my affection for the Charleston.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
Viktor, who had stood behind his wife, stepped forward. “Goodnight, Li.” To his wife, he said, “Darling, we must let Li take his grandmother home. It’s late.”
“Yes, of course.” Cym lifted one hand and placed it on top of the car. “Li, now is the time. If you’re to keep her here, you must tell her.”
“Tell her what?” My stomach fluttered with nervousness. Were my feelings so obvious?
“Tell her you want her to stay,” Cym said.
“We mustn’t interfere,” Viktor said, a gentle warning in his tone.
“This is my baby sister’s happiness. If there were a time to interfere, it is now.” Cym turned back to me. “Did she tell you about Paris?”
“Yes. I’m happy for her,” I said.
Two full beat notes passed before she spoke further. “Is that the way it is, then?”
“It’s the way it has to be,” I said. “You know that to be true. You all do.”
“The rest might believe that to be true,” Cym said. “But not me. Not Fiona.”
“If only we ruled the world, then,” I said. “Goodnight, Cym. Viktor.”
She stepped away from the car. Viktor wrapped his arm around her narrow shoulders. Deceivingly narrow. I’d seen her jump off the side of a mountain with skis attached to her boots.
I got into the car. The engine roared to life and brought the scent of gasoline. I backed up, careful of the fence, and pulled out to the dirt driveway that would lead us home.