Reflections of Love Page 3

  Mornings are the worse. I wake and reach out for her, only to find a cold, empty space where she should be. The pain in my heart is so sharp, I pray to die with her. I can’t go on. I can’t…I don’t know how.

  “Evan, you really need to eat something.” I hear Dawn place the tray of food on the table next to the chaise lounge.

  I have no energy or words to speak.

  “Evan, please. You haven’t eaten all day, or the day before, or the day before that.” Her pleas are filled with pain.

  Then, I feel a hard slap across my face, but I am too numb to move. I feel the instant sting and finally, burn of where her hand made contact.

  “Damn you, Evan. Rae would not want this! You selfish bastard. You have to live for her.” She pounds her fists into my chest, and that’s when I realize she also has nothing left to give. “Say something. Please. You’re all I have left of her!”

  Slap!

  Her pain is my pain.

  Slap!

  Her anger is my anger.

  Slap!

  Her agony is my agony.

  Slap!

  “Please Evan, you can’t leave me too!” She chokes on her sorrow. “Pleaaase…” Her words drift off. She looks spent, but then a look crosses her face, and she is angry again.

  She repeatedly pounds her fists into my chest, and this is the most alive I have felt since Rae’s death.

  I will drink your suffering and make it mine because that is what I deserve. I deserve your rage, your hatred; I deserve it all because I took her away. Me! I did this to us, and I deserve to die.

  My limp hands reach up without thought and hold her to me as deep sobs wrack her body, only to be drowned out by my own.

  I don’t know how much time has passed as we both sink in the abyss of our sorrow, too spent to carry on. I feel James’ presence, and I look up to see him standing by the doorway, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

  For the first time since losing Rae, I realize I am breathing. I knew I was, but didn’t actually feel it until now. I am suddenly conscious of everything and everyone, as if I had been melted and molded into every core of existence.

  “Raaaaeee.” I don’t recognize the voice.

  James stands immobile, and Dawn pulls away and cups my face.

  “Raaaaeee.” The voice continues to repeat Rae’s name, pure unadulterated agony tinging the words.

  The bubbling anger inside of me reaches the surface and explodes; the stranger's voice is my own.

  Chapter 4

  “Okay, let me do the talking,” James says, as he presses the thirty-fourth floor on the elevator, which houses my publishing company editor.

  I stare at my reflection in the mirrored walls. My beard has grown out, and my eyes are gaunt. Disheveled is the best way to describe my appearance. The elevator chimes and the doors slide open to the plush office of Drop One Publications.

  The receptionist looks up and smiles. “Hi, Mr. Taylor and Mr. Lee. Agatha is waiting for you.”

  My editor was named after her mother’s favorite author, Agatha Christie. We politely thank her and walk down the long hall toward Agatha’s corner office.

  “Remember, let me do the talking,” James repeats, as he holds the door open for me.

  I walk through, and Agatha is coming around her desk to greet us. Her eyes open wide and her mouth drops open as she takes in my unkempt look. Decorum takes over, and she places her mask back over her face, concealing what she is really thinking. I look down at my wrinkled appearance and rub the scruff on my chin.

  “Evan, my dear, I haven’t seen you since…” She stops short, but I know what she was going to say. She hasn’t seen me since Rae’s funeral. She looks uncomfortably at me then shifts her focus to James. “James, good to see you.” She air kisses both of us and directs us to sit at her round client table.

  I can tell this conversation isn’t going to go well. If it were to be short and sweet, she would’ve directed us to sit at her desk, but whenever she wants to have a lengthy conversation, it is always the round table. It’s a mental game for her: Let Evan think I’m on his side, and perhaps I will get what I want.

  We take our seats, and James politely waits for Agatha to begin. I can almost see his brain working overtime before the conversation has even begun.

  She crosses her legs, which causes her pencil skirt to hike up further. “Evan, we have been more than patient with you during your time of grief. We have given you extension after extension, even accommodating you as far as canceling your scheduled book tour appointments, which have cost us upwards of a six-figure loss. The time has come for you to produce. We need Grace’s Choice; your fans need it. It’s time, Evan. No more delays.”

  I open my mouth, but James gives me an angry glare, and I quickly close it.

  “Aggie, come on. It’s only been six months since he lost the love of his life. He is still trying to find his footing in this world without her. All we ask is, if you just…”

  “You have three months to hand over the finished book. And that is me being generous.”

  James frowns and looks over to me; I do not indicate if I can complete the work or not. He sighs and looks back to Agatha. “Give us six months. I promise.”

  “Three. If it is so much as one day late, I will drag his ass through court. Am I clear?”

  James slaps his hand on the table. “You’re threatening to sue your bestselling author? Real smart move, Aggie.”

  “Agatha, and yes. I absolutely will. Call it tough love.”

  The two of them argue back and forth, as I sit despondently, ignoring them both. Her wall-mounted television is on the HGTV channel, and shows some historic homes that the historian is talking about. The television is on mute, but you don’t need to hear him to understand. Then the De Wolfe Plantation appears on the screen, and before I realize it, my feet have led me to stand in front of the screen. I watch, mesmerized, as the historian discusses the house that Rae photographed on that fateful trip. The home that she said she was meant to live in.

  I need the sound on; I want to hear what he is saying. I turn around, in search of a remote control, but can’t find one.

  “Sound,” I say out loud. Both Agatha and James stop mid-argument and stare at me with their mouths agape.

  “Sound,” I repeat, in a pleading voice.

  Agatha nods, as if in a daze, and walks over to her desk. She clicks a button and the sound comes on instantly.

  “Yes, Jack, and it is a shame that this beautiful historic home has fallen into disrepair. But some lucky devil will get to own it, and hopefully restore it to the way it once was.”

  “This will be the biggest home auction this state has ever seen.”

  “Exactly. I know I will be here this weekend, placing my bids.”

  Auction? The house is up for sale? I have to go. I rush toward the door.

  “Evan, wait!” James yells.

  Without breaking stride, I reply, “Give her whatever she wants. I’ll have her blasted book in time.” I say the words just before the door shuts behind me.

  Chapter 5

  I’m upstairs packing when I hear my front door open and slam closed, and then the rushed footfalls up the steps. I mindlessly throw things into my carry-on bag.

  “Do you mind telling me what that was all about?” James asks as he watches me move around the room.

  “I’ll have the book done. But I need to get to South Carolina now.” I grab some underwear from the drawer.

  He steps in front of my suitcase. “South Carolina?” A look of concern crosses his face.

  I exhale. “The De Wolfe Plantation is up for sale at an auction.” His forehead creases in confusion. Annoyed, I try to walk around him, but he blocks me. “It was the last place that Rae photographed for her assignment.”

  He grabs my arms and looks me dead in my eyes. “Is that a good idea? You’ve been walking around here like a zombie for six months; barely eating, sleeping, or even taking a bath, for God’s sake. Ar
e you going there to do something stupid?”

  I frown. “Stupid?”

  “You know…kill yourself.” I shake my head vehemently, staring at him, disbelief coloring my face. “Really? Because you’ve been looking like a man that is ready to die, my friend. And now this? You’re going to the house that she last photographed?”

  “You don’t understand; she said it was her dream home. We were going to buy it.”

  “You’re going to buy your dead wife’s dream home and live in it, alone?” He throws his hands up in exasperation. “Yeah, you sound normal alright.” The sarcasm drips from his lips like a leaky faucet.

  I inhale deeply through my nose and close my eyes, searching for a clarity that does not come.

  “It will make me feel closer to her.” I choke on my words, and the six months of emptiness I’ve felt.

  “Closer?” He walks over to Rae’s closet and slides the doors open. He snatches a handful of her clothes, and tosses them in front of me, onto the floor.

  The pain of watching someone else touch her clothes stings, but I shut down the protest that desperately wants to escape my mouth.

  He goes to her vanity table next, and snatches her perfumes, hairbrushes, and makeup, tossing them on top of the clothes.

  I watch him as he systematically chips pieces away, that I was desperately clinging onto.

  He goes into the bathroom and comes out shortly with her robe, slippers, and toothbrush, and throws them at my feet.

  I stare at the items that were once my wife’s, and I can’t stop the tears from falling.

  “Closer?” He points to the items on the carpet. “How much closer do you need to be, other than to die and be with her? Everything is exactly the way she left it.”

  I drop to my knees and hug the items to me; some of her clothes still hold her scent of juniper. I can almost feel her with me when I hold them.

  “I -I needed these to help me cope. It’s all I have left.”

  He kneels in front of me. “That is not all you have left. She lives inside of you. These are just material things.”

  How can he say that? These are not just material things; these are my lifeline to sanity, for without them, I was surely going to lose my mind.

  “Evan, when is the madness going to end? How do you expect me to let you go to South Carolina in the state you’re in? As your best friend, I’m trying to help you.” His voice cracks with emotion.

  “I don’t know how to explain it, but I just know I’m meant to live in that house. Her dream house.”

  He stares at me, his face tired, eyes red, and his lips slacken. “Then I’ll go with you.”

  My head snaps up, and our eyes meet. “You don’t have to.”

  “I think we both need a change of scenery, and maybe this will be a good thing.” He stands and offers me his hand, but I am reluctant to let her go. “It’s just material things, Evan. Let them go.” His voice gives me the strength that I need, as I let the items drop to the floor.

  I rise with the help of my best friend, and we begin the process of packing to start a new journey.

  Chapter 6

  We sit on the wooden chairs that are placed in the square, in front of a statue of Robert E. Lee. The outdoor auction is set to begin in a few minutes and has generated a big crowd, most likely due to the television show on HGTV. A few seats away from me sits the HGTV star I saw in the episode at my editor's office.

  James wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Why couldn’t they do this inside? It’s got to be at least a hundred degrees.”

  I chuckle at his complaint as I flip through the auction brochure. “I think weatherman said it would hit ninety-five today.”

  He groans. “Oh, what a five-degree difference can make.”

  “Why don’t you wait in the hotel? I’ll come and get you when it’s over.”

  He looks as if he is contemplating this offer, but then shakes his head. “Oh no. I’m staying, if only to make sure you don’t overbid on this house.”

  “James, I doubt I will overbid. How many people are going to want to bid on a plantation that’s basically in ruins? I’m probably one of maybe two people interested.”

  He mumbles something inaudible under his breath, as he once again wipes sweat from his forehead.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the auction will now begin. Please remember all sales are final. Only bid if you are serious, and good luck to you all.” Our auctioneer stands at the podium in a white sundress and sandals.

  “Is your plantation the first to go on sale?” James whispers.

  “No, it’s the fifth house,” I murmur to James’s loud displeasure.

  “For Pete’s sake, why are we here so early?”

  People sitting around us complain at his outburst, and he quickly apologizes.

  “Just in case they change the lineup. I don’t want to miss it.”

  “Buddy, trust me, the lineup isn’t changing, because that’s just how my luck is going. I’m doomed to sit in ninety-five-degree weather that feels like a buck twenty in the shade, with you as they auction off four other houses. I’m hoping I don’t melt into a pool of sweat out here.”

  Shh’s sound off in protest again to him speaking, as the auctioneer begins the bidding process on house number one.

  I ignore his complaints and wait for my future home to come up in the auction. Two and a half hours, fifteen complaints, and at least a thousand hushes later, the De Wolfe Plantation is up.

  Pictures of the plantations, inside and out, are placed on the easels. I look over to the HGTV host as he smiles and gets ready to make his opening bid.

  “Well, as you can see, this is the famous De Wolfe Plantation. Simon De Wolfe was an interesting man, as you have read in your history books. Even though his cotton plantation was run by slaves, he was a northern sympathizer. You see, Simon believed the future did not lay on the backs of slaves, but in the advancement of machines. This mindset came from when he went to college in Pennsylvania. When he came back, slowly he tried to change how the plantation was run, much to the chagrin of his father, and eventually Simon’s wife as well.

  “Simon also had a mistress that was his slave, and they bore a child together, much to his wife’s humiliation. That child’s name was Franny and from all the records that we have found, Simon doted on her and moved her into the house as a servant. From the records we found, Franny was known to be quite a beauty, with a heart-shaped birthmark on her left cheek.” The auctioneer points to her left cheek and smiles.

  The audience is mesmerized by the history of the De Wolfe Plantation as am I and, for the first time, James has stopped complaining.

  “Even though Simon was a northern sympathizer, he still fought for the Confederacy. He went off to war as a general, and when he came back, his beloved daughter Franny was gone. His wife told him that she ran away, but others exclaimed otherwise and hinted at wrongdoing. Needless to say, to this day, because we have no records of what happened to her, we know that Simon and his wife both died childless. After their deaths, and with no heirs, the house became a government building, then a school, and lastly, to the state of where it is today. It is begging for someone to love it and repair it to its former glory. The opening bid for the house is set at twenty-thousand.”

  Without thinking, I rise and stake my claim. “Two million.”

  James jumps to his feet to protest, as shock ripples through the group. The HGTV star shakes his head, knowing he won’t be able to outbid me.

  “Two million going once…going twice…sold.” She hits the gavel on the podium, finalizing the sale. “If you will, please see the cashier to the side.”

  I smile and nod excitedly as I gather my things and walk toward the cashier, with James in tow.

  “Remember when I said not to overbid?” James utters sarcastically.

  I feel the most alive that I have felt in months. That house was meant to be mine, I know it as much as Rae knew it. “I didn’t. That house is wort
h more, just for the history alone.” I nod at the cashier as I begin filling out some forms.

  “The opening bid was for twenty thousand. Do you not know how to bid? Your next bid should have been twenty-two, not two million!” he screeches through clenched teeth.

  “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t outbid,” I protest.

  “Outbid? Then you could have said thirty thousand. The repairs alone will cost you millions.”

  “That I have.”

  “So, you bought the De Wolfe Plantation, I see.” The older woman smiles at me.

  “Yes ma’am, I did.”

  “Do you know why it sat empty for all these years?” James asks.

  She looks over her shoulder and turns back to face us, then beckons for us to lean in closer. “Because it’s haunted.”

  “Are you trying to tell us that ghosts live in the house?” James asks with an incredulous tone.

  “No sir, ghosts don’t live there, to the best of my knowledge.”

  “Didn’t you just say—”

  “What do you mean, ma’am?” I interrupt.

  James huffs out his annoyance at either me, her, or the conversation; or, perhaps, all of the above.

  “I mean, you can feel the pain and sorrow. Something bad has happened inside those walls that only they know, but can’t tell. Most say it is the murder of Franny, some say it is the wails of the slaves, others say it is the pain of Mrs. De Wolfe. One thing is for certain. That house is a keeper of tears.”

  “You mean, anyone who is inside feels unhappy?”

  “Yes’m. Sure do.”

  Well, since I am already unhappy and in mourning, I guess the house should have the opposite effect on me.

  “Evan, can I speak to you privately for a moment?”

  I nod at the older woman, excusing myself, and step over to the side with James.

  “Back out of this now. You are already knocking on suicide’s door; this house could push you over the edge.”

  “All sales are final.” I throw the words of the auctioneer in his face.

  “I’m a lawyer, and a damn good one. I can get you out of this deal.” His eyes set in determination.