+1+
He’d seen us from the window. Fierro peered down from his bedroom window and I couldn’t make out his expression as Rose emerged from the garage with me.
“Let me do the talking”, I say to Rose as we head up the driveway.
“I can do it”, Rose says.
“It’s best you say nothing.”
Rose unlocked the front door and Fierro stood patiently in the Foyer.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” He asks staring down at Rose. I start talking first.
“Look Fierro, that program wasn’t right for Rose. I say we send her to another program and her mother never finds out.”
“Do you think deception is a good skill to teach her.” he asks rhetorically.
“I don’t want to go to another camp”, Rose cuts in.
“Rose, what if something had happened to you?” Fierro’s attention is on her now, “I don’t want to believe I can’ trust you. “
“I’m sorry, Papa”, she says.
He was quiet. The disapproving look he gave Rose was moments from sending her into tears.
“Emile and I are leaving for San Francisco tomorrow, so you are going back to Luxembourg, Rose.”
“No”, she whines, “Please. It’s awful there Papa. Please don’t make me go back.”
“Rose can have my ticket to California”, I try to mediate, “Take her to San Francisco to Clara. I was just going for fun.”
“No”, he says, “Clara will be expecting you, Emile.”
Rose put on her most indignant expression at the mention of her mother.
“If you send her back to camp she will just leave again”, I whisper to Fierro.
He considers this, most likely along with all the stubbornness Rose had inherited on both sides.
“Alright then. Pack your things Rose you will come to San Francisco and spend the rest of the summer keeping your mother company in America.”
“But I—“
“That’s enough, Rose.” he said and she storms upstairs to her room.
+++
“This is ….it feels like a draft, Emile.” I peek my head into my little living room where Leif was flipping through the tree I’d killed to print out my manuscript for French Murder Book. He was laid back on the couch his shirt sticking to his still damp bronze skin.
Like most men my age he was a former lots of things. Former Body-builder, former professional student and former teacher. He was a Norwegian citizen with a Ghanaian mother and Norwegian father. He’d left his socialist dream of a country to live in the US for a few years and developed a fondness for Americans. Especially this American.
“You’re an editor”, I say flirting just a little, “I’m sure you can find a way to make it better.”
“It doesn’t have to be good, it just has to sell. It just feels academic. Narrative non-fiction is about traveling to another time and place. It’s got to have style and intrigue but be rooted in reality.”
“How can you add style and intrigue when three people’s murders went unsolved for decades?” I call out for my bedroom.
“Emile you are living in the house where the murders took place. Really imagine the footsteps they took. Imagine them in this very room.”
A shiver ran through me. Sure the ghost were gone but still something always remained.
“You’re scaring me”, I say, “I may need you to stay the night.”
I rolled my suitcase out to the living room and placed my carry-on bag on top .His tight curls were starting to gray prematurely at forty but he had the crooked smile of a teenage heartthrob and glasses that were straight from the seventies.
“I don’t want to intrude”, he says.
“You’re not”, I tell him. Leif was sitting in the La-Z-Boy I’d salvaged from my old house. He looked good in it. He looked good in everything. I perched myself on the arm of the chair.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here this late”, he ask and I like respect in his voice. It was well past midnight, but after I’d made dinner for the two of us in my en suite kitchen the evening had gotten away from us.
“Yes, I want you to be comfortable here. Plus I want you to know the people in my life. ”
“I know Clara”, he says, “I think she likes me.”
“Clara love everyone when they bring her wine.”
He had also met Rose once but all the she did was stare quizzically at him for much longer than appropriate.
Leif and I had started off as critique partners in an English writer’s group in Versailles. He was our newest member, he wrote poetry which wasn’t the usual for the group but he jumped at the chance to be my critique partner. He delivered insightful blows to my attempts at personal essays. I could tell writing wasn’t his true passion but he always seemed more interested in my writings anyway.
Our writing and critiquing sessions went on so long that after a while we decided to hang out after hours and soon we were….dating…I guess ?
“Have you been writing anything else?” he asks.
“Just the Etruscan book but you don’t want to read that.”
He looks over at the clock again. Its 2am, “I should go. I’ll keep you up to date on what happens at group.”
I helped him into his coat which wasn’t easy as he stood at nearly 6’3, we ambled out the door and down the steps into the main house kitchen. I was jarred when I slammed hard into something, I nearly slipped but thankfully Leif hoisted me up and I realized I’d been too busy talking (fine, looking) at Leif to realize I’d ran into Fierro, who had quickly righted himself.
“Fierro”, I said with all three of us on the staircase. While I’d dragged Leif along to a few disastrous double dates with Clara but he’d yet to meet Fierro.
“I should-“
“Fierro”, I say, “This is Leif. Leif this is Fierro. My very wealthy eccentric patron, landlord and—“
“Emile”, Fierro chided.
“And friend.” I finished.
There was a strange observed silence shared between the men before Leif lifted his hand and a firm handshake was exchanged.
“I”, Fierro began looking at me, “I had to change our flight to accommodate Rose.”
He handed me an envelope with an economy ticket. I tried not to show my disappointment but the plan had been to fly Deluxe First Class round trip, baby!
“That’s life”, I said tucking the economy ticket into my pocket. We were still standing on the steps and I wondered if I should move first.
“I…’ Fierro began and then he did something…unlikely. He trailed off. He glanced at Leif and then he turned and headed back down the stairs.
“He’s…a little off”, I said.
“No. its fine”, Leif lies so well, “Uh…Enjoy your trip.”
“Thanks”
“Auf Dusen, Emile”
“Bunas noches.”
+++
I was ready for San Francisco on less than 3 hours of sleep.
I’d gotten myself up and my luggage downstairs promptly at 5am yet still managed to arrive late. Fierro and Rose were already sitting at the bar having breakfast tea. Fierro was reading and Rose was neatly folding a sketch book piece of paper into a crane.
“How?” I asked more to myself, “How?”
I sat in the front of the cab and started an amiable conversation with the driver that turned into an entertaining and pleasant conversation that made the trip to the airport go by much faster.
I’d been looking forward to chilling in the first class lounge but instead Rose and I wondered around the terminal shops looking for a wedding present.
“What’s wrong with Papa”, Rose asked peering at the key chains in the Louis Vuitton store.
“What do you mean Rose?”
“Something’s different”, she says wondering to the jewelry case.
“He’s fine, Rose.”
She gave a rare laugh, “Don’t be silly…Papa doesn’t belong here. Just like—“
“We really shouldn’t talk about those kind of things”, I tell her because Clara and I only talked about Litany Lane when we were alone. Rose didn’t know the whole story but she’d gathered things from her Specter Great-Grandmother/Stepmother which…was moot to the whole point.
Rose moved from the key chains to the watch case.
“It’s okay you know”, Rose said turning her full attention to one of the stopped rose gold watches, “I won’t be sad if Papa goes back. I’m old enough now…I’d be okay.”
“Rose”, I said and watched as the rose gold watch in the case slowly stated ticking. The hands rearranged themselves to the correct time in a smooth motion.
After buying a His and Her set of Louis Vuitton watches with the credit card Rose’s father had given her we walked back to the gate after stopping for a Cinnabon. Once again the only thing Fierro wore better than dark gray pants and a white button up was isolation. He’d found a corner away from the crowd and was still reading. His posture was slightly relaxed with is hand in his loose hair, the roses he’d brought (so predictable) where neatly beneath his chair.
“Are you still mad with me, Papa?” she asked sitting next to him. He was going to fall under those bright oversized eye of hers and the way she looked just like the only other woman who could weaken him.
“I’m not mad with you Rose. I was just disappointed.” he picked up the book again, “But you are still staying with your mother.”
She huffed and opened he sketchbook, “Honestly.”
+++
Our connecting Air Canada Flight 248 hit turbulence over Western Canada, I was violently rocked awake and peered out the window to see it was thick with condensation and it was ink black outside. Others on the flight whimpered as the plan shook again. I immediately went to Rose in the seat between Fierro and I.
She was practically out of her seat, her head buried in her father’s chest. The plane rocked again and a few passengers cursed.
“What do you think will happen”, I whispered to Fierro as the plane rocked and sent me hard into the window, “If we crash…to you. You think you will—“
The plane banked down and my stomach flipped. People screamed and I braced myself. Fierro tightened his grip on Rose.
“I can’t think like that”, he says.
The lights in the plane start to flicker and the whimpering of the other passengers sounds like a death rattle.
“Rose”, I whisper taking her hand, “Darling, everything is okay.”
The plane rocks again Rose lets out a panicked scream and the light above our seats pops and sprays warm glass.
“Sweetheart, you have to calm down.” I say in a calming voice.
The turbulence hits again and all the carry-on luggage breaks free and spills into the aisle. The electronics in the plane are going haywire, more lights burst which I know has nothing to do with the turbulence.
Fierro’s eyes were closed his breath coming evenly… he’s so calm. Either meditating or praying. He’s so goddamn calm it’s starting to calm me down. I reach across Rose and he takes my hand. I close my eyes and try to breathe.
The next 30 minutes are torture before they plane makes an emergency landing in small West Canadian airport outside of Kenova. When we step off the plane it’s to a torrent of rain and wind. The massive summer storm had come out of nowhere. We were outfitted in airline provided plastic rain coats and made to walk across the tarmac to the airport with our carry-ons.
All flights were delayed until the storm cleared and were left to scout a place on the airport floor to sleep for the night. We were a sorry lot except for Fierro who through the transitive property of Colin Firth being wet was an upgrade.
I found a good corner next to a plug that was hidden behind a column.
“Here”, I said sitting on the floor to claim the spot, “Rose can sleep on my jacket.”
Rose was shivering next to her father, she was so thin and her damp clothes were bound to make her sick. Fierro offered me a hand and helped me up off the floor
“We’re leaving”, he said.
“What?”
Through sheer fortitude and stubbornness Fierro found the one company that was willing to rent us a car this late at night in the middle of a severe thunderstorm. It was the dead of night and we were deep in the great Northern forest. His driving was precise and focused, I kept myself awake trying to serve as a backup and navigation as we made our way through the back roads.
We found the closest hotel outside of a logging town and tucked in for the night. The Mt. Sutton Marriot wasn’t the lap of luxury but it did have an open bar and local entertainment. Rose and I shared a plate of vegetarian nachos an Fierro had a scotch, a rare vice for him while a Journey cover band played for an audience of logging executives and outdoorspeople.
The hotel room felt like an oasis because it was dry and warm. I turned the TV on low just to drown out the sound of the torrential rainstorm outside. Rose settled into one of the double beds, she had her AirPods in and was falling asleep to her favorite childhood movie playing on her iPad.
I heard the shower running and opened up my secret Celestial Hollow file on the computer and the document I’d last worked on.
Celestial Hollow, Book Three (Version II ??) Chapter 5 😄📚
This high society housewife was old enough to be Samuel Briar’s granddaughter.
Mr. Quinn considered The Briar Widow sitting on his bed. Unadorned of her face paint, lace veil and shawl she was left in a modest black dress that her now twice-dead husband had gifted her--she seemed more like a young woman now because she was young. So unlike the demure dutiful aristocratic wife his good friend Samuel Briar had spoken so highly of. The Briar Widow was very new to Celestial Hollow so of course she thought it very odd the way his gaze followed her every movement and how he kept his hands firmly in his pockets.
“You have a very comfortable home”, she said admiring the spare space, “Thank you for offering me a place to rest.”
“You needn’t sleep”, he told her.
She titled her head and listened very carefully when this strange man spoke. When she was alive (all 23 years of it) The Briar Widow had never really left her hometown in Southwest Quebec. Her first language being Quebec French and later English… yet she still couldn’t place his accent.
“Really?” I feel exhausted. You don’t sleep?”
“Never if I can help it, Mrs. Briar”, Quinn said.
“Stop calling me that”, she said, “I barely knew Samuel Briar as more than a friend. It’s been odd having his name. We were only married for a week.”
“He did mention it was an arranged marriage, I understand that’s outdated now?”
“Marriage of convenience”, she said, “Money makes you do all sorts of things. We both had good intentions.”
She spoke quickly and her French Canadian accent caused her words to run together.
“Mrs. Briar—“
“My name is Celine”, she said.
“What happened this morning, Mrs. Briar?”
“We fought. We’d barley been reunited for a day and Samuel was treating me like a child again; judging me, telling me what to wear and how I should behave now that I’m …dead.”
“Did you love him?” He asked
“Did you love your wife?” she picked up the picture of the wife by his bedside. She’d been beautiful and like her twice-dead husband, his wife also appeared a few decades older than him.
“I did, she was my teacher.” he said.
“Very Scandalous, Mr. Quinn”, she said crossing her legs beneath the heavy dark skirt of her dress, “Especially considering you killed her.”
“Samuel had time to tell you that before you burned him?”
“We found time between the love-making”
His disapproval of her boldness registered too late for Celine to catch it.
“Did he tell you you didn’t die?” Quinn asked
“What?”
“Your soul still has work to do. That’s why you are in Celestial Hollow”
Celine laughs and but he fixes his gaze on her. His hands still held tight in his pockets.
“Trust me I’m dead, Mr. Quinn.”
“No one in Celestial Hollow died. Don’t you see…we were murdered?”
“What?” She sat up straighter.
“We were all Killed”, he clarified, “You, me, Luther… everyone here. We were all murdered. And until peace is made… well you’ll be here indefinitely...”
“I wasn’t murdered. I got drunk, went to St. Martha Look Out to sulk and fell. I wasn’t murdered. It was a stupid accident.”
“Considering you are quite clearly a whore who married Samuel for his money, I can only assume one of your adult stepchildren shoved you off a cliff. How odd that your husband’s soul is burned to ash hours after you arrive? Though it is a chance for Luther and me to solve a real murder. I just wish it wasn’t my dear friend Samuel.”
“How dare you?” she snaps as he made his way out the room, “Samuel Briar was my husband and I cared about---“
He was already out the door and moving down the hallway, Quinn’s mind set on the new puzzle before him. The enraged Briar Widow followed calling him to no avail.
“Wait. Come back! Mr. Quinn”, she shouts following him, “Mr. Quinn. You bastard stop ignoring me. Sir, you will listen to what I have to say—“
As a last resort she grabbed for his shirt sleeve just as Luther on the second floor landing above began flashing the hall lights. Quinn stopped and turned so suddenly he and Celine ran into each other.
“Mr. Quinn”, she said peering up at Luther as he stopped flashing the hall lights. The Briar Widow was a quick study and Luther gave her an imperceptible nod and she said without thinking, “You’re …deaf?”
--
“Which book is that?”
I bit down and somehow stopped form jumping when I realized Fierro had settled into bed beside me.
“No”, I said closing my laptop, “It’s just …nothing. Notes. Just…writing exercises….”
He didn’t question me further and I was glad for it. He set his small travel alarm clock on bedside table with his watch.
“You know”, I began then restarted, “I used to always joke with Rodger about what kind of dad he’d be when we had kids but….Fatherhood. I don’t know. I don’t know if I could have done it.”
“Emile, you have been more of a father than Rose than I have.” he turned to sleep on his back.
“I wouldn’t say that.” I said no matter how much the first three years of her life were spent in my living room “It’s just… I was ready to make a cot on the floor of an overcrowded airport and you somehow drove us through a monsoon, without using your cellphone. That’s real parenting, yes? ”
“I wouldn’t know”, he said.
“Don’t go pulling the orphan card.”, I said
“I haven’t felt like an orphan is quite a long time”, he looked over at Rose who was sound asleep.
“When I picked up Rose, I saw Rodger.” I blurt out.
“Isn’t this a conversation you and Clara you have?”
“Maybe”, I said using the pillows he’d discarded, “But you never did tell me what you thought of him. I kind of felt like you avoided him”
“I didn’t want to form much of an opinion”, he said, “ I always knew we were never going to be enough for you and you needed someone else in your life. Especially after losing your parents. I didn’t want to speak ill of him.”
“I’m almost 50 years old. I’ve lived a lot of lives had a lot of found families in my time and right now this family is the one I want to be apart of. You and Clara are like the little siblings I never had”, he opened his mouth to protest like he always did when I called him young, “I said what I said.”
+++
The next morning Rose and I walked to a nearby Tim Hortons to pick up coffees, tea and doughnuts. I’d had Rose put on a child-size university of Rochester sweatshirt, a jeans skirt with her black flats with big loose curls in her dark hair. I turned her into a mini version Clara and I hoped Clara would think she was too cute to be mad at her.
Fierro was awake and on the hotel phone when we got back, I felt a little giddy when I saw the slim black credit card he hardly ever used in his hand. I handed him his coffee and sat on the edge of the bed.
“What’s the plan?” I asked when he hung up
“There is a flight leaving Vancouver to San Francisco at 8pm. It will take us five hours to drive to Vancouver. If it all works out we should be in San Francisco just before midnight. “
I talked Fierro into stopping at an Indigo Bookstore before we hit the road so I could stock up, he dutifully followed his daughter around and predictably bought her whatever she wanted. She sat in the backseat quietly sketching as we zoomed down the road.
I drove the last few hours and sighed in relief when we came upon the Vancouver International Airport. I just about kissed Fierro when he handed me my first class ticket. I’d graciously taken the odd single seat and melted into the buttery leather hoping for a celebrity as a seat mate but instead it was some Silicon Valley startup kid who I was now Facebook Friends with.
I looked over a few times to watch Rose convince her father to help her with her crossword puzzle game on her iPad. When Rose went to sleep, I saw him carefully scrolling through the thousands of photos Clara had accidentally uploaded to the Cloud she and Rose shared.
+2+
Here is how I knew Clara DeLune was drunk.
We entered the Sunview Royal Hotel just after midnight and Fierro had tried to use his impeccable manners and wealth to find another room in the booked hotel when I heard that familiar infectious laughter followed by the clicking of heels.
Clara and Eleanor had their arms wrapped around each other at they burst into the hotel, they were dressed for the evening and behind them a group of tired looking women headed towards the elevator. Eleanor gave Clara a little spin, her skin tight black mini dress showed off a dangerous amount of leg. She nearly toppled over in the shiny platform stiletto heels she was wearing. Clara sort of righted herself then noticed us. She then said in a voice much louder than I expected :
“Rosie!”
She tottered over to Rose then threw her arms around her. Some of the other women at the elevator turned in interest. Rose went immediately tense in her mother’s grasp. Clara smelled like perfume and cheap cologne which wasn’t as noticeable as the thin layer of glitter on her décolletage and overflowing cleavage.
“This is my little Rose”, said Clara to the women still waiting for the elevator but the poor things were clearly still figuring out how to get drunk in their 30’s. Rose managed to wriggle away from Clara. Clara tumbled a little and hugged me.
“What are you doing here? “, Clara asked grabbing Rose into another other sloppy drunk hug.
“I told you I didn’t like camp”, Rose said fighting to get away.
“Not you, silly”, Clara said swaying a little.
Fierro and I exchanged cool glances, I also caught Eleanor’s eye—I’d only met her a handful of other times but I could tell she was trying to communicate something to me.
“Didn’t you get my message”, Clara asks trying to pick up Rose
“No”, Fierro said defaulting to his icy ‘Mr. Fierro’ tone which I knew wasn’t meant for the message but for the drunk woman smothering his child.
“One of Eleanor’s single teacher friends offered to be my plus one to the wedding! Hey! Rose can stay with me. Come on Rosie!” Clara said and excitedly dragged Rose toward the elevator.
“Clara”, I started, “I don’t think--”
“It’s fine!”
Fierro had reached for his phone and turned it on. A flurry of text and voicemails filled the screen, after quickly growing impatient with the device he placed it in his pocket.
“When was the last time you checked your phone”, I asked.
“Last week”, he said
“Um…you can both still come to the wedding. Rose too”, Eleanor offered. I hadn’t even realized she was still there. It seemed odd to see a bride alone days before her wedding.
“I don’t want to intrude.” I said.
“Come on Emile, we sat in the poor people corner and shared champagne Jell-O shots at Clara’s graduation party. Plus we share Clara DeLune Best Friend duties so I think that means you are more than invited to my wedding. As long as it’s clear I get to be her maid of honor whenever she get married.”
“All yours, I’m going to be the officiant.”
“It’s a very kind offer”, Fierro says… ever the gentleman
“No problem.” Eleanor shifted awkwardly, “I…introduced Clara to Drew because she said you weren’t jazzed about having to travel and they really hit it off. Sorry….”
“It’s alright”, Fierro said, “If you will excuse me.”
I waived good-by to Eleanor and followed Fierro to the cozy double room I’d reserved for Clara and I to finish our week in San Francisco. Seconds after arriving in the room Fierro had quickly left with his luggage.
By the time I showered and settled in for a good writing sprint the door opened again.
“Wait…wait”, I heard Clara say before laughing.
I looked up as Fierro effortlessly carried a very drunk Clara into the room. He laid her down very gently on one of the beds.
“Watch her Emile. Rose shouldn’t have to see her mother like this”
“I’m fine”, Clara whined kicking off her shoes under the blanket he’d pulled over her legs.
“She was just having a bit of fun”, I said playing the mediator, “She didn’t know Rose would be here. Don’t be cross with her.”
“There is a thing called responsibility.”
“Hey”, Clara says sitting up and slurring, “Why is Rose here?”
“We’ll talk in the morning.” I said, “Let me order you some room service and make sure the coffee is stocked.”
“Thank you”, she manages.
“I am way too old for this Clara”, I said propping her up on her side with some pillows
“Why is he …always like that”, she slurred, “Treating me like I’m a child. Talking down to me. I should…I should…”
She didn’t get the change to finish that sentence before passing out.
+++
After two espressos and a giant cup of coffee the next morning Clara DeLune almost looked like herself. She’d invited me out to the Rooftop Breakfast and Mimosas event for wedding guest. I’d met the fiancé and I even met Drew this charming knight who jumped in to be Clara’s date. He was older (around fifty) because it was Clara and they always were.
“Clara I really think you should apologize to Fierro.” I said from the little corner we’d taken up on the rooftop bar to catch up, “He came all this way and you just replaced him with…Drew?
“It’s not my fault”, Clara said sipping her virgin mimosa, and “I left a message and a voicemail telling him he didn’t have to come anymore. I thought he’d be relieved.”
“Which is why you never confirmed it face-to-face or told me. You were afraid he’d be relieved.”
“I’ve been having such a good time on this road trip—“
“Great American Adventure”, I corrected.
“And I just know he’d give anything not to have to be around people. I didn’t want to see the relief in his face”, she finished, “Also I can’t believe you brought Rose here. I am not going to listen to her whine and complain during my vacation. I can still sign her up for Summer school.”
“Or maybe let her take some art classes in town?”
“Maybe”, she says, “But she’s going back to France with Fierro.”
“I don’t know, after Bucharest he’s been kind of off.”
“Everyone who visit Romania is a little off for a few days…it’s a really odd city”
“Clara…I think he saw something there. Maybe a Spectre or something like that. Maybe something darker.”
“Emile I can’t talk about this right now”, she said watching Drew watch her, “I just want to live in this moment of normalcy. We can talk about all things spooky, unnatural and paranormal tonight. Deal. ?”
“Deal.”
+3+
After picking up our luggage from the airport I put together a decent outfit that complimented the coral and blue wedding colors--gray suit, a snappy bow tie and bright socks. I’d packed Rose a light pink dress that fit that awkward line between little girl and teenager that I’d found in the back of her closet.
We were getting quite the looks (I mean we always got looks) as we headed to the wedding venue. The concierge took pictures of us in front of a picturesque Instagram wall the couple set up. Rose was tense in front of cameras, to get her to loosen up I, without warning (and without stretching), wrapped my arms around her picked her and set her back down. The shock got a light-hearted reaction out of her.
The watches had been wrapped in Louis Vuitton wrapping paper and I’d made a bit of show of placing them on the gifts table. Fierro’s roses hadn’t survived the tumultuous flight.
I turned to go inside the wedding hall when I noticed Fierro by the concierge desk with his luggage next to him. Rose noticed and she seemed equally puzzled.
“Go inside, Rose”, I said.
“But—“
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
I straightened and headed towards Fierro. He was putting his glasses away and clutching a plane ticket.
“What are you doing, Fierro?”
“Emile—“
“You were just going to leave and not say a word?”
“I was going to stop in before the ceremony to say good-bye to Rose.”
“Eleanor invited us.”
“For godsake she doesn’t want me at her wedding.”
“She’s your ex-wife’s best friend’s granddaughter.”
He shook his head because I knew that made it worse.
“That’s sentimental Emile, but I’d rather not get in the way. I can’t say I’m
fond of weddings or the institution of marriage myself. ”
“Clara is in there”, I said, “And I don’t care what she says she wanted you there too. But as usually she got scared and came up with some excuse to keep this ridiculous distance. And you as usual come up with a reason to run.”
“Are you cross with me”, Emile he said dismissively
“You know what. Yes.” I tried to bite back my frustration but it came out, ”Yes I’m cross at you. You know Rodger and I were never going to make it. We have a secret Fierro. You, me and Clara. We aren’t like other people and no one can ever understand or love us unless they understand.
But here you stand. Still acting like the poor sad lonely widower when the universe has…dare I say…blessed you with a wonderful woman who knows everything about you and you keep pushing her away. You have a daughter, a home a livelihood together for fucksake, why are you always running from it.”
“Bucharest”, he answers.
“What?”
“In Bucharest. Essex invited me to at ruin at the northern end of an ancient Celtic wall near the mountains. We hiked for nearly a day. Ruins line the country but there is a spot in this ruin that is almost imperceptible where time stops.”
I stared up at him my anger close to boiling over.
“What? You’ve been brooding because your damn watch stopped working.”
“It’s more than that”, He says searching for a way to say it, “In this one small area time stands still. It’s an unexplainable phenomena. I’m an unexplainable man…and somehow I felt kindship with this thing. I felt pulled towards it, I feel pulled towards all sort of things that shouldn’t exist. I feel like there is some literal connection that understanding these things might help me take my former life back—“
“Don’t’ say it. You belong here.”
“I will never truly belong.”
“Bullshit. That’s an excuse.”
“I’m tire of the lies…unlike Leif”, he says.
I took a minute to replay our conversation. How had it gotten to Leif?
“Has he been lying to me?”
“It’s not my place”, he says, “I shouldn’t have said anything. I have a flight to catch”“You can’t just say something like that and leave, Fierro.”
He sighs with a defeated look and checks his watch.
“Come now Emile. Surely you recognize him. From The Shangri-La. He was the bell man.”
I stared blankly at Fierro. Fierro had an amazing memory, something that came in more use when he was dead than alive.
God
The Shangri-La. It felt like centuries since we first me there.
“The…bell man?”
“He…he must have come back somehow”, Fierro manages.
I stepped back and into the closest hallway, I couldn’t look at him. Who was this man I called a friend ? How many lies and secrets was he keeping? For fucksake the biggest lie I kept was my secret mystery serials.
I continued down the empty hallway and stole into the empty reception area and FaceTimed Leif. I didn’t care that it was 3am in Versailles.
Leif's backlight face filled the screen, his laptop was on and he must have been pulling an all-nighter.
“Emile. Is everything okay?”
I don’t even hesitate.
“Why would a poet join a writing group? An amateur poet I should say. I mean you’re an editor not a writer. Why would you want to spend more time with writers —“
“Emile, what’s wrong.”
“I know”, was all I said, “I know.”
He looked away. He was caught and Fierro was right because he was always right. This was just like Rodger, what was it about me that I attracted liars and thieves. I was too kind…must have come off as naive.
“Emile. Hear me out. I…read Progress of The Soul. It moved me.”
“Fuck. How?”
“Back then…when I was dead. I wanted to be like them. I wanted to be a Spectre I guess. I wanted to be infinite and to make peace with my life. But your book convinced me otherwise. I spent days eavesdropping as you interviewed people at the bar. I admired you and your writing. In a place like the Shangri-La you had to be mindlessly happy but you made people think.”
“No… I mean how you are…here.”
He was hesitated.
“It’s was a long journey. I’d actually really love to tell you sometime. It’s…it’s just not really something you should do over the phone, don’t you agree?”
I nodded realizing I’d have to reply.
“I’m on my way back”, I said then looked back at the wedding cake being prepped by the staff, “After the wedding. I’m coming back and we are talking. No lies.”
“Emile. I like you a lot. But…why should I tell you all this if I’m never going to see you again?”
I dulled my sharp tone.
“Who said we were never going to see each other again? I just…trust is important.” I say hopefully.
“I wish we could start over. I should have told you but I was afraid it was different for you.”
It. There was an “it” between us.
“Maybe …maybe we can start over if we start slow”, I suggest, “We are good at that aren’t we? Starting over.”
“Let me know when you get in. I can pick you up from the airport. Bye, Emile.”
“Bye…”
I slid the phone into my pocket and headed back into the wedding. Rose had found a seat in the back row I moved to sit next her when I noticed her Father sitting attentively her other side. His bag tucked neatly under his seat. His hands uncomfortably clasped.
He looked at me expectantly as the music begin to swell and the bridal party made their way down.
“It’s okay”, I mouthed and he nodded.
+4+
The wedding is, how I think the kids say, pretty ‘hype’.
I teared up as Eleanor and her new husband’s students came up to speak about their teachers and later taught them Fortnite dances on the dance floor.
A piano was situated in the room and Clara’s hilarious, beautiful and moving maid of honor speech was followed by an arrangement of an Adele song that the couple did their first dance to. Fierro sat companionably through all of it, we clinked glasses during the toast and I was sure to include him as I exchanged wits with Eleanor’s boss, hairstylist and a few other third tier guest we’d been seated with. Rose had been escorted by the hostess to a table of Eleanor and her husband’s students.
Eleanor is beaming when she and her new husband come by the table.
“I saw the watches, thank you so much you guys”, she says bringing Fierro and I into a hug.
“What watches is she talking about”, Fierro asked.
“Oh, I—“
Looking for an out I turned toward the wedding party table where Clara was sitting by herself. I made a vague gesture and made my way over to her
“Can I have this dance?” I ask Clara holding my hands out to her.
She smiles and I lead Clara onto the dance floor as the D.J announces the final slow dance of the evening.
“Where’s Drew?”, I ask.
“He left. He was sweet but it was kind of awkward. Going to a wedding with someone you just met. I can’t wait for you and me too just hangout for the rest of the week.”
“Oh, actually Clara… I’m heading back to France. There’s been an unexpected turn of events. I’ll take Rose back with me. I don’t think California is really her scene.”
“Good events?”
“Interesting events”, I admit, “l’ll let you know.”
“Guess it’s another solo traveler week for me.”
We danced for a minute in silence.
“This was nice”, I whisper, “I mean I’ll give a better speech at your wedding.”
“Stop it Emile”, she says, “…I know he was planning on leaving.”
“And I know you pushed him away first”, she rolls her eyes.
“How about a spin?”
Before she could step out I took my time with a quick little shuffle spin with some mild voguing .mild. She laughs and the mood intensely lightened.
She looks over my shoulder for a second and her lips tightening in a held back smile. I turned to see Fierro dancing with Rose. Rose keeps her expression unamused and unphased because it seemed most preteen girls didn’t want to be the center of anyone attention.
I imperceptibly move Clara and me closer to them.
“Switch”, I suggest nudging Fierro’s shoulder.
I could tell Fierro was still not in the mood for my antics. He politely let go of Rose’s small hand and instead of pulling Clara close, he takes my hand and pulls me to him before I could react. he took the lead moving us a little farther form where (while standing far apart) Clara was trying to get Rose to sway her arms.
“So, did I convince you to stay, Fierro? Am I rom-com best friend material?”
“You have an ability see clarity when I don’t. I can got weeks thinking I know exactly what I’d doing and who I am to be and all it takes is little interaction or discovery to set me off balance again.”
“I know the feeling.” I say as his hold tightens.
“I have to see what’s out there if I want to I to save myself and Clara”, he says watching Rose and Clara, “I owe her that much. I owe her more.”
“Don’t forget to live in the intermediary”, I say moving us slowly down stage back to Clara and Rose. Fierro and Clara’ eyes met very briefly for a moment. Fierro looks away first. which is how I know he will also be on the first flight back to France tomorrow. Clara smiles sadly to herself.
I tried not to think too much about what would happen when I got back to France. What’s I’d say to Leif what he’d say to me. What’ we’d do next.
I tried to relax.
To stay in the moment.
To live.
To just fucking live.
The End
Author’s Note
You: Okay Lils it seems like you got some real unresolved things here
Lils: I KNOW. This is one of the first things that *intentionally* got away from me. Like I’ve gone off the rails before but usually I don’t realize it while it was happening. I had a lot of ideas for how I wanted to write a bit from Emile’s POV but not one of those “full story” things. I just wanted tease at potential futures and journeys I could see these characters going down.
You: So this Bucharest Thing is that going to be resolved? What is it?
Lils: Um? IDK maybe it’s some sort of cross over with New Aeterna-Verse. Remember how it was theorized that they crossed time? Look, I wrote the scene of Fierro being spacey in the kitchen first and it took off from there. Like I knew Fierro was deeply troubled about something he’d experienced and I just wanted to very light play with the idea of Fierro’s adventurous journeys into the paranormal occult. I often think how I could have made Litany Lane’s saga about Clara/Fierro Vs. The Paranormal but I never did that.
You: What about Leif? He came out of nowhere
Lils : Well, I wrote Leif in because I wanted Emile to get some of that “good D” with a totally hottie, but I was like …there is totally more to this guy than being hot and I liked the idea of other people coming back and the different ways they do.
You: Like how
Lils: IDK, like they do in Blessed Hearts.
You: Why are Clara/Fierro so frustrating?
Lils: Liapri kind of resolves some of this. I wrote them at the same time and I had to make this adapt to it.
You: Also Clara is a real hot mess in this
Lils: Yeah, I feel like she is going to come off as super unlikable.
With that said I will say that I started posting this without a re-read and it
was astonishing how so many of you in your comments called out Fierro on the
things Emile does later on in the novella. Also Rose’s favorite film is frozen
because she relates to a character who has urges and abilities inside her that
she has to keep hidden or people will get hurt.
+++
Muse : Okay Lils it’s time for you to stop being wishy-washy and put all these rumors about Celestial Hollow to rest.
Lils : *sighs* Like I said in a comment I wrote a scene with Fierro and Emile breaking into a building and I was like…woah…pump the breaks this isn’t a penny novel. So in this scene Emile makes a joke about how he feels like he is in a secret mystery series he is writing and I was like…well let me at least include the idea of Emile being an indulgent writer in the actual serial. This was maybe two years ago.
Then I got the idea put in some little snippets of his novel for fun, because I was really drafting this serial and for a while it was just Fierro and Emile scenes and then they somehow ended up at a wedding and I wrote it from there.
I wrote an early drat of Sincerely, Emile and I literally half-assed the two Celestial Hollow scenes as throwaway scenes. Then a few months ago I came back to Sincerely, Emile and expanded on the scenes and had some thoughts on the characters but that’s really it.
Muse : So all the commenters want to know…Is this going to become a thing ?
Lils : Lol, Goodness no ! No one would want that …right ? I mean it’s sooooo silly and I mean it’s really sad how I can’t let go of Litany Lane-inspired stories. Besides I don’t even know who killed Samuel Briar or why. I mean all I really know is Celine’s entire backstory and that she is hiding things from Luther and Quinn. I also know like part of Quinn’s backstory … but like this is Emile’s book so Luther would have to play a major role but like… I could use that picspiraton SHV gave me for Emile that I lost…. Also Like Emile’s writing style would be in third person and I’d feel like there would be a lot of gallows humor and it would be like slightly sexier than what I write. Also like …Celine would be like super ballsy sexy woman with a French accent and be like super not-here-for-shit in a way I haven’t really written a female character before
So no this is not a thing I even think about at all...that much. It’s not a thing.
Muse : LiLe you need to set the record straight
Lils : Okay I started dabbling a few
weeks ago. Just testing the waters to see what happens…okay. It’s not a thing I
am at all committed to. Give me three years and we’ll see if I can ever really
do something. I’m going to treat it like a side challenge since I use the “writing
tips and tricks” section from Pinterest to get my Pinterest MFA. If I did this it would be work. So for right
now it’s best to put it out of your head. Although I do have a picspiration for Celine. Okay moving on.
Okay, so I guess next
up is some items from the Vault I forgot I had and then Rogue 😉