Little Brown Book
Am I really trying to convince myself that what I saw was a coincidence? Lorona worked the whole day at the bookstore without uttering a word, afraid that her untrusting thoughts would spill into the audible world and grow even more real. And still, she couldn't stop reliving the visual memory as if it were an unlucky omen. A journal had appeared like a summoned ghost on Kestrin's table only hours after its existence was mentioned to her.
She'd wanted to read it immediately, but no chance had offered itself. Kestrin fell asleep with his arm around her and the next morning she was first to leave for work. This gave ample time for the journal to coil through her thoughts like a fast-growing vine, swelling inside her head, nurtured by the silence of the bookstore.
Their section of second-hand journals, leather-bound glossy hard covers, and slightly torn moleskins all seemed to whisper to her every time she passed them. Lorona spent most of her time in the back room that day so she wouldn't have to look at the journals, and ended up with a mold and dust headache.
She worked late to delay the inevitable, finally resorting to dusting the upper shelves of reference books that only sold once every six months or so. Margie finally kicked her out to close up. Lorona circled the block three times, retied her laces on both shoes, filed her nails, wrote a shopping list for the grocery store, and finally drove to the mall and bought a pound of See's chocolates. By the time she'd left the shop, she had a butter caramel square wedged into each cheek and a stomach full of agony.
Here it comes.
Kestrin's cell phone rang the moment he walked into the empty apartment. She usually returned before him. Lorona must have stayed late.
“Hi, Mom.”
“You never take so long calling me back, sweetie. Everything all right?”
He felt sharpness in her voice, like a barb, and he reflexively grew defensive. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't wanted to talk to his mother.
Is Lorona changing me already? Or is it because I suspect Mom took the journal?
“Everything is great.” Kestrin let his messenger bag slide to the floor and lifted his journal from the bedside table. “Do you happen to know why my journal disappeared a couple weeks ago and then reappeared at the bar yesterday?”
“Oh, that!” Amanda giggled. “I borrowed it for a few weeks. When I stopped by your work to see you yesterday, they said your shift didn't start till four.”
“It always starts at four on Tuesdays. You know that. And did you just say you actually walked into my house and borrowed my stuff without asking?”
“I wanted to free your mind from these ridiculous dreams.” Her voice was still soft, but it had an edge, like the warning she used to convince Kestrin to swallow cough syrup.
He stopped pacing, preparing to face her. She'd won a lot of battles, but not when it came to his dreams. He didn't want to fight or hurt her feelings, but she could not be allowed to discredit these. “Mom, we both know my dreams are real.”
“You bend over backwards to make them real, sweetie.” Now the level of sweetness in her voice was noxious.
“You used to have them, too.”
Amanda didn't answer. Her life philosophy was not to accept anything she didn't like. She'd told Kestrin that his own birth had ended her dreams, ones just as prophetic as his. He didn't think she'd ever forgiven him for their loss.
“Well, now you have your book back.” She sidled away from the subject. “It didn't stop you from being stupid, so if you still want to follow those dreams, you're just going to have to make your own mistakes.” She paused and slurped something out of a glass, probably a White Russian. She loved those. “Are you liking married life?”
Now he was sure of it. All of this weird tension and falsely sweet voice stuff had to do with Lorona.
If Mom makes me choose, she's not going to like it.
He tossed the journal onto the bed. “It's only been a few days, and yes. I'd say it's wonderful.” He picked up Lorona's shirt, which had missed the laundry basket, and smelled it. Her perfume made him feel like his feet left the ground. He was still drifting when Amanda said, “Good so far. I see.”
He walked to the kitchen and foraged in the fridge for a snack.
Amanda's tone changed to a deeper coo. “Be careful. She'll probably break your heart.”
“She's everything I ever wanted.” Kestrin knocked over a bottle of ketchup.
“And you know this how?”
He peeled the top off a yogurt cup and chose to keep silent rather than bringing up further mention of his dreams.
She went on, “You'll just have to show her your silly riddle and see what she says.” Apparently she wasn't going to leave the dreams out of it.
“I'm planning to.”
“I'd hoped that without the journal to show, you'd decide to never get married, but that was dumb, wasn't it?” She sniffled as if what she'd just said was deeply tragic.
Kestrin slammed the yogurt cup onto the counter before eating a bite. A splatter of peach yogurt slopped across the counter. “You know what? I want the spare key back. It worked for a while, but the whole borrowing my journal thing is too much.”
She sighed and made more weepy sounds. “I'll drop it off next time I'm in the area.”
Their interactions weren't usually this strained or negative. Kestrin felt a small tug of guilt for ignoring her messages. Impulsively he asked, “By the way, how are things with Duane?”
“Him? Oh, we're done. I haven't seen him for a full seven, no…eight days now. He started drinking way too much and I said I wouldn't have it. He hooked up with some piece of trash that he met at the Folklife Festival last summer. He was calling her on the way out the door, I swear. But then again, I loved how flighty he was, like a summer bird, always ready to sail away to someplace exotic.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“Don't be. It was a thrill while it lasted.”
Kestrin sighed. “Do you ever think you'll marry one of these guys if—”
“Babycakes, I tried really hard with your dad. I wanted to make things better so that you'd have what everyone said you needed: two parents. Stop making me feel bad.”
Kestrin realized his sigh had been louder than he'd meant. “Sorry.”
“That little wife of yours will never love you like I do.”
“You should meet her. She's gorgeous and playful and sometimes she's so serious I have to laugh at her. She's amazing.”
“I've got my spare key, so I'll pop on over sometime.”
“Nice try. No, I want that key back.” Kestrin laughed to soften the order, even though he didn't feel like it.
“Just as long as you know who loves you best. I love you, more than anything in the world.”
He paused, gritted his teeth, relented. “I love you, too.”
At least she sounded calm now. He was starting to relax when Amanda said, “And if she can't answer that riddle in your book—that's why I gave it back to you—then please just consider that maybe, maybe the girl from your dream doesn't exist? Maybe you're not supposed to find a life mate? Maybe you really are my son, after all?”
Kestrin bit his tongue hard.
She added, “If she ever hurts you, makes a fool out of you, breaks your heart, or anything like that, I promise you I will make her life miserable.”
“Thanks, Mom. Glad to know you've got my back.”
“Anytime, baby boy.” Amanda kissed into the phone and hung up.
His phone rang again almost immediately. Lorona.
The other woman, he thought sardonically and immediately felt awful.
“Hi, beautiful,” he answered.
“Sorry, I'm late coming home. I'm actually down at the front door right now. Napoleon Junior is demanding a password. I haven't seen him before, so I thought he was joking. He means business, doesn't he?”
“His name is Napoleon?”
“He sticks his hand in his shirt just like Napoleon with his stomach ulcer.”
“He's the landlady's kid. He does it to all the new residents for the first year or so. He changes the password every now and then, but it always follows the same theme: High-security prisons.”
“Charming. Does he have keys to all the apartments, too?”
Kestrin laughed. “I hope not. Try ‘Alcatraz.’ He just likes the sound of them. I don't think he actually keeps track of what is what.”
Sure enough, the moment Lorona said it, Napoleon Junior, Gatekeeper, scowled at her through the glass door, repeated the password at her, spitting as he stressed the “z,” and tried to trip her up the stairs.
“Do you have any secrets?” Lorona loosened the top three buttons on his shirt and pressed her cheek against his chest. The scent of spaghetti and red wine hung in the air, candlelight from their dinner lingered in Lorona's eyes, and the furnace hummed on high. Kestrin felt like a lion reclining in his den with nothing more to do than breathe. And now she asked this, all Delilah and Samson style, as if she were planning his downfall.
“Now that's a friendly question.” He felt a chill under his skin and tried to laugh. He ran his fingers through her copper curls and they caught in a snag of hair. “Is there something particular you want to know?”
He'd been dreading Lorona's demand for a full, detailed account of how many women and sexual trysts had come before her. The more he thought about it, the more embarrassed and immature and repulsive he felt, and he didn't want to feel this way around her because it gave him the sensation of standing by himself in the room as she slowly melted away from him into tiny motes of light.
“I just need to know, do you have any secrets from me?” She looked up at him through her eyelashes. Had she put on lipstick when he wasn't looking?
He kissed her as his throat tightened and then said what he didn't want to say, but knew that he should. “I'll tell you anything you want to know.” She deserved this. Even if he got slapped across the face or she made him sleep on the floor. He swallowed on a dry throat. “I won't hold anything back. Ask away.”
Lorona made as if to speak, then broke into a face like she'd just eaten rotten food and shook her head, as if she couldn't go through with whatever she'd been plotting.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” she muttered. The candlelight faded from her eyes and she looked away.
One minute my wife seems about to seduce me, the next minute she looks like a scared puppy.
She proceeded to ask about his family, especially his mother, though he strongly suspected that this wasn't what she'd meant to talk about. However, stories of his free-spirited childhood intrigued her and he preferred this tranquil mood over the tense one before, so they stretched out on the futon and he played with her hair and told her about the time his mother had taken him mushroom hunting in the Cascade foothills and how he'd been terrified the mushrooms would poison him. Amanda had promised that her love would kill any poison. He'd believed her and happily eaten the mushroom soup, feeling perfectly fine afterwards.
After his story, Lorona rose, walked to the bathroom, and brushed her teeth with robotic movements. Then she tucked her side of the blankets under her stomach and rolled toward the outer edge of the bed. He got up to check that their door was locked, and as he crept back in, he reached up onto their headboard, found the matchbook, and lit a line of tea light candles along the shelf above their pillows. She didn't seem to see the candles at all. He tugged gently on the strap of her nightgown to get her attention. When she rolled over, he took her hand and pulled her out of bed.
Soon they were outside, sitting close together on his hammock. The candles inside glowed through the glass like large stars, and the chill made it necessary to huddle together. It was cold, but not unbearable, with the heat floating out the door and warming their backs.
Anxious to set her at peace, he whispered, “Ask me whatever you want and it's yours. No secrets.” He pulled the thick wool blanket from its place in the balcony corner and spread it over them. The way the light settled up here, the balcony was always dusted with shadows. If viewed from below they could easily pass for pruned topiaries in the dark. Kestrin blushed and wished suddenly that he hadn't listened to Lorona and that they had taken a honeymoon somewhere else, anywhere else, to hell with their savings. Anywhere with blank hotel rooms devoid of memories. He still felt the presence of the handful of others who had been there with him, but none had ever made him quiver down to the tiniest hair follicle every time she looked at him. And as much as he knew how different and special Lorona was to him, this place still felt tainted.
He thought of the numerous times he'd shown the other girls the dream in his journal. It had always been a last resort. He'd pretend that he'd had the dream the night before, which wasn't exactly true. They hardly ever recognized that the entry was open-ended, and almost none realized it was a test. And those who did realize it had no clue how to begin answering.
He'd taken the dream's symbols and stretched them to select the girls. One woman had cried a lot. Another was a single mother. Another had a strange habit of wearing white all the time. Another was a foreign exchange student who sang in French when she thought no one was listening. All held parts of the strange recurring dream, but none completed picture.
I don't even know if Lorona can complete the picture because she still hasn't seen it, either.
He shuddered and mentally banished the spirits of the other girls from his haunted evening. The journal, which he could see if he looked over his shoulder, pressed into his consciousness.
General opinion criticized Kestrin for his heartless and cold approach to romance, but he knew it wasn't that he lacked passion, but that he'd lacked the woman it waited for. Now, certain he'd found her, Kestrin felt shame at the silent acknowledgment that Lorona still hadn't seen the journal entry. It had to be her. It was her without a doubt.
So why don't I show it to her now?
A small doubt flapped in his ear. Because Lorona might not be able to finish the dream, either.
I just have to show it to her and let fate do the rest. He had enough faith in destiny to work out the details.
I wouldn't have dreamed of proposing if she wasn't the one.
Smoke rose from a chimney across the lake in a staggered staircase, climbing the lavender sky. Kestrin turned to his wife, who hadn't murmured a word during his musings. He let his eyes roam across her curves and her softness, the ridges of her ears and the freckled constellations on her face. Suddenly desire for her swelled up in a fresh, intoxicating rush. As he moved to kiss her, he realized with a jolt that the woman who sat so close to him was three mental countries away.
Her eyes hinted of a troubled story. He couldn't force his own test on her tonight. Kestrin promised himself to read her the journal the next morning and put his own thoughts to rest. Once they'd rested and he'd give her the test—and she'd pass, of course she'd pass—and then his own mind would be clear, and afterward he could help her find her own peace as well.
We just need a good night's sleep, he told himself. He tried to enjoy the beautiful dusk view, the night air, and the hammock, wishing his misgivings would leave him alone. He scooped Lorona into his arms, admiring the moonlight making shadowy caves and jungle forests out of her hair. He took her back to the futon and covered her with a blanket and sheets that twinkled with gold and moons and stars. He'd found them in an After Christmas Sale the previous year, and when Lorona discovered them in the closet she'd loved them at first sight.
As Kestrin kissed her cheek, she looked down, as if she couldn't bear to meet his eye. “Is there anything I can say to make you happy?” he murmured, pressing his lips against her neck.
She touched his face with icy fingers. “Promise you'll always forgive.”
“Forgive everyone, or just you?” he laughed. “What's your crime? I'll always love you.” He blew out the candles.
There were some unforgivable crimes out there. He'd probably committed a few. Breaking someone's heart had to be on the list. The rumors about him weren't entirely unfounded. But with regards to Lorona's strange request, as far as Kestrin was concerned, no one could forgive everything. But he could forgive Lorona. She was easy.
Why are you asking questions like this? he thought.
With a knotted brain, he pulled the blankets over him, noticing that she didn't brush his calves with her toes the way she usually did as a “sweet dreams” farewell. He waited until he was sure she had already boarded the train to dreamland before he flopped onto his back with an enormous sigh.
She'd done no crime. She was just worrying like many girls did right before they fell asleep. Or was she? He'd slept with many women, but he'd never known their thoughts.
You'll never rest if you keep thinking down this road, Kestrin.
He sighed. He'd show her the dream in the morning, and everything would be fine. He flipped open the journal and began to write a new entry by the light of the moon.
Lorona woke with her skin drenched in cold sweat. She clenched her toes until her arches broke into twin Charlie Horses. She hissed and stretched them. This pain was punishment for the sin of planning the deed.
I could still just ask him. She shook her heard. No, I need to know for myself. I want to see it before he can try to make me see it differently. I need to know who he really is.
The quickly-growing instinct would soon possess her entirely.
The journal was sitting right there.
She heard Kestrin's voice whisper inside her memory, Sometimes destiny reaches right out and hands you things.
