This is a
continuation of CHAGRIN IN THE HILLS (Pt. 1/WFOL 2013 & Pt. 2/2013 Conzine)
THE UNCERTAIN ESSENCE OF ROMANCE
CHAPTER 2 - "If you are irritated by every rub"
THE UNCERTAIN ESSENCE OF ROMANCE
CHAPTER 2 - "If you are irritated by every rub"
“The very essence of romance is
uncertainty.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being
Earnest and Other Plays
Jacob Wells sat across from Peter
Alcott. Mary watched the uneasy play of troubled expressions between them. The
tension in Jacob’s brow seemed to dial back Peter’s general hint of a smile.
Peter neutrally asked, “How old
is Vincent?” as he ran a finger around the rim of his tea cup, his other hand
ready to cover any uncontrollable grin.
“Peter, that is not the issue, my
son loses all reason when he is too deeply embroiled in his latest diversion.”
Jacob’s consternation furrowed deeper wrinkles across his forehead.
Each of them sipped at their cup,
Jacob seeking reason as Peter sought grander eloquence. “Vincent will use all
discretion while he is in hiding. Imagine how it is for him to find Catherine
alive.” His words were rewarded with Jacob’s oddest expression.
“You think I’m speaking of
Vincent?” Jacob’s hands flew into the air and landed on the arms of his chair.
The slap caused Mary’s head to rise from her crocheting, realizing Jacob had not
let go of the subject she grimaced slightly, pushed her glasses up her nose and
returned to her craft. She understood his overwrought tone.
“I mean Devin; essentially he
plays dangerous games with people as if they were pieces on a chess board.”
Jacob wiped at his mouth and continued on to stroke his beard, all the while shaking
his head slowly, “He has all the aplomb of Peter Pan without being the hero.”
Peter reiterated from an earlier
discussion. “His phone call to me mentioned finding Catherine and bringing her
to Vincent, that reunion alone is quite heroic I would say.”
Jacob’s eyes narrow, “And what
condition was she in after God knows what happened to hWhat yarn did she spin to reclaim Vincent’s
attentions? You know the condition Vincent was in for months after he believed
she was dead?”
Mary and Peter shared a long look
at Jacob, remembering the “speed grieving’ he had enforced on Vincent. She
spoke up softly, “Jacob, dear, may we reserve all of this until we hear from
Vincent? I am certain he is expecting something of a hullaballoo when he
returns, especially with Catherine.”
Jacob’s lips pursed stubbornly,
his eyes darting to Peter and back to Mary, “How are we to deal with that? Is
it even safe for her to return to New York?’
Peter’s life above had quieted
since his best friend’s daughter had died. He had retired from his practice and
begun an arm chair investigation into the medical circumstances that had leaked
from the case. These startling facts had only been discussed with Vincent and
at that they were discussed in the privacy of Peter’s library. Peter had previously
never withheld things from Jacob, yet these facts were kept from the Tunnel
patriarch.
Peter tried to speak with an air
of detachment, “It was discovered that Gabriel’s organization had shifted after
Vincent’s scourging of the drug house. He was superstitious and he divested
that arm of business to a cousin in Chile.” Although his knowledge betrayed him
and Father honed in on Peter’s expression.
“Peter, you know why we do not
play cards. You have a terrible poker-face. What do you know about this said
organization?” Father now leaned out of his chair as if he could bodily
threaten Peter. Eyes locked in silent challenge then Peter spoke up.
“Mary, could you be so kind, I
hadn’t had dessert tonight and I am craving one of those Chocolate muffins.”
Putting her crocheting down into
the basket beside her chair her mouth twisted. The muffins had been eaten;
she’d have to pop some of the batter into the oven, with that request she
understood their need to be alone.
“How long do you need to chat? I
can be back in 30 to 45 minutes.” Now her arms were diffidently folder over her
chest, understanding the true request.
‘I apologize for Peter my dear.
We do need every bit of those 45 minutes.” Jacobs’ lips puckered in a bit of a
kiss and Mary stepped to place another one of his furrowed brow.
“You won’t start World War 3?”
She smiled and asked over her shoulder as she left, drawing the curtain closed
behind her.
Their words flew back and forth
in rapid drill. Peter divulged succinct answers to Jacob’s rapid fire demands.
All in all Peter danced through Jacob’s propriety, leaning heavily on his
familiarity with current medical protocols. Their words flew as daggers at one
point, pausing only for Jacob to blanch at Peter’s mention of "Manners
maketh man".
Peter rose to lean across the
table, pressing two adamant fingers into the stack of Jacob’s assorted papers
he emphasized, “It took more than days to build this place, your refuge. The
walls you put up went both ways, Jacob. Vincent has tread so many of these
tunnels in fear of crossing not only the dangers above, but you – here.”
Jacob’s head snapped up, their
eyes riveted in heat, “We’ve all paid dearly for the safety here, and perhaps
Vincent has paid the most because of his nature. HOWEVER, his involvement with Catherine,
from that very first night has done more to lay mines for all of us.”
“Jacob, I’ve lost a piece of my
belief in you and what you’ve done here. If there ever was a lost soul who
needed refuge it was Cathy Chandler. As well as Charles did for her, he was one
sad man. How can a man raise a daughter alone? You saw both Vincent and
Catherine flourish in their love.”
Jacob’s lips straightened,
believing there was nothing left for him to do, yet he cocked an eyebrow as if
to challenge Peter, “And I saw her blessing become Vincent’s curse.”
“Curse? A Curse?” Now Peter drew
up to his full height, his arms folded across his slim chest.
Jacob’s jaw dropped as he
recollected the points Peter had placed before him, “Whatever devious science
and medicine Gabriel’s people sought to inflict using Vincent and Catherine,
why did they think it would succeed?”
Peter stepped to the cardboard
box containing his collection and riffled for the final piece of evidence,
“Because Gabriel’s people used medical research from The Crittenden
Foundation.”
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The sight of Vincent’s back, his
head hung low between his shoulders struck a dissident chord in Catherine’s
memories. They had not come this far to fall away from each other. Catherine
rose silently and padded to stand behind Vincent. If only she could hit ‘Erase’
and be done with ‘this’, move to the next conversation- - - their love and
their lives ahead. Afraid to embrace his waist, she rested her cheek in the
center of his broad back and placed her hands gently over his furred hands.
“Vincent, it is ALL over, we’re safe. I can’t day it enough, please, face me,
talk with me?” She felt him inhale deeply and he shuffled from foot to foot.
Catherine recognized she had him trapped and she backed away, resting her
backside on the breakfast table. Gradually Vincent pivoted and raked his
fingers through the mass of hair concealing his face, he found himself a bit
too close and he leaned against the counter, one knee bent, one bare foot
resting on top of the other, his arms spread along the counter.
“What about me, Vincent? What about my
dreams?” She moved unsteadily and relit the burner under the tea kettle.
Vincent’s words were measured and
careful, “Now that you’ve recovered your memories you should be living in the
light of your friends’ smiles. Imagine their joy at your return! You are
returning to New York aren’t you?” He had caught some of her conversations
while undressing for his bath.
With her back to him she pressed
her palms into the cool granite counter-tops, feeling some phantom strength to
crush the stone counter. “Since I recovered my memories of us I thought my
return would bring you the most joy, Vincent. Were my dreams hollow dreams?”
She worried her bottom lip, fighting back tears.
“I would be a liar if I said I wasn’t
ecstatic at our reunion - - -.” His sentence’s end hung precariously in a
thought he feared to express.
Catherine turned to face him, her
hands still grasping for the counter for balance. “I feel there’s a codicil
waiting to be initialed, I mean, who’s the lawyer here?”
The room’s air tingled and
crackled with emotional electricity, “A dreamer is one with no regard for the
harsh light of reality and my reality is what I am.” His hands rose as if they
were a monstrous truth. At the kettle’s whistle she prepared the fresh pot of
tea mechanically. Her brain was on overdrive trying to recollect if she’d ever
won an argument about their relationship with Vincent. Returning to the table
he accepted the pot and covered it with the needlepoint Raccoon tea cozy, he
directed a clawed finger toward it, in a lighter toned voice he queried, “Did
you remember Mouse and Arthur?”
She flushed, “I remembered
Arthur, I couldn’t remember Mouse’s name.” Catherine’s elbows went on the table
to cover her face for thought, to hide her reddening eyes.
“Catherine, I feel fragments of
your emotions, they began to re-emerge while I was soaking in your tub.” His
voice was a near whisper, “The tipping point of our love tells me approaching our
unbridled desire we’ll surely approach a tragedy-in-the-making."
Pushing aside all thoughts of
‘them’, Catherine had to ask. “Have you lived these past years without any
attraction to anyone?” Catherine sensed she knew the answer; there hadn’t been anyone
for her in that time.
His head rose to tilt
thoughtfully, “You could say I wore my grief visibly. There were those who
attempted to cheer me, yet even Lena did not approach me.” Catherine’s hand
wiped at her face trying to recall ‘Lena’, and at the spark of the memory of
her ‘offers’ to Vincent she grimaced painfully.
Vincent toyed with his tea cup,
“You’re reliving her visit to my bed, no doubt?” Catherine lifted the pot to
pour his cup as Vincent continued, “I’d be a liar if I didn’t confess in these
past few months I was painfully close if it had been you, Catherine.” At his
words her hand shook and tea spilled in jagged splotches on the table. Vincent
rose for a sponge or towel as she placed the pot carefully on the quilted
matte. He felt her hot gaze on his back as he turned to remedy the spill. Eyes
to eyes the air whirred with a new vigor.
“This makes no sense, Vincent! On
one hand you fancy my coming to your bed, yet want me to live Above? Have
things changed Below that they tolerate affairs between unmarried people?” He
saw this coming and he raised his eyes to the ceiling for an answer. Thwarted
for words she was prompted by his silence. “Have you fast-tracked into the
world above to the degree that you would want me as a dirty secret, not sharing
our relationship to your family and our friends?” Her tears flowed at that
inference. And he reached across the table to hold her hands but he had to ask
for them.
“Please, Catherine, let me
explain my reticence to manacle you to the darkness.” Their fingers threaded
and their hands held fast.
Catherine tremulously licked at
the tiny tear on her lip, “I know in my heart when I was taken away we were no
closer to cracking that hard crust of our dilemma. But, Vincent, in my bed in
my dreams I savored our life together and it was more than just finding the
pleasures of each other every night in bed. It was waking up each morning to
start the day together.”
Vincent’s mind hungered to hear the
depth and breadth of her fantasies; he nodded and rose to join her on the other
side of the table. Drawing her onto his lap his clawed fingers combed back her
hair to see her glistening eyes roam over his face.
“My love, I spent months in a miserable
state of mind desiring few people’s company and fearing losing you. When I held
you dying I had told myself if given the chance I would be different.” Vincent
rocked her softly, one arm around her shoulder and one under her knees. “Now
being given the second chance I appall myself that I’m wearing out the same
fears.”
As the moon ruled the tides,
Vincent recognized his connection to Catherine was growing with each swallow of
air. The only palpable sound was his breath driving the rise and fall of his
broad chest as he placed a sweet kiss on her forehead and she melted closer to
him. She felt the strong beat of his heart through the thick fleece. Pushing
through her fear for him her tentative finger traced the ‘v’ of his open
hoodie; they seemed to gather closer to each other in breathy silence. Bringing
one cautious hand up toward her face he leaned back a bit, his fingers continually
combing her lustrous hair just to feel the silk between his fingers. He felt
the warmth of her pensive, sea-green eyes.
His breath fell hot on her face,
“Oh, Catherine, I have loved you in my heart.” Yet his eyes were dark,
brooding about something untold.
In a whispered sigh Catherine
implored, “Show me how, Vincent.”
TBC
