Songs of Love & Death

“I’m sorry, Laurel,” she murmured. “I should have taken that down. I just wasn’t thinking. Please forgive me?”

Trembling, I reached out, stopping just short of touching the photograph. Would I ever be able to face his image without shaking? May silently stepped in front of me and turned the picture to face the wall. I slowly let out my breath. Breathe deep, calm the soul. A companion photo hung next to it, a man as fair as Jason had been dark, though somewhat older.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

May’s face lit up. “That was my son, Galen. Jason’s cousin.” Pride rang in her voice. “I miss him dreadfully.”

“Was he older?” I asked, examining the photograph. The man’s face was robust, but not red, and he had sandy blond hair gathered into a short braid that hung down his back. He sported a reddish beard and I found myself unable to look away. His eyes radiated the same gentle firmness as May’s. Beneath her wrinkles, I could tell that May possessed the same definite bone structure. Not nearly as angular as Jason’s.

May nodded. She fingered the portrait and her prints remained faintly on the glass. “Galen was six years older than Jason was.” Her eyes sparkled. “He was nothing like his cousin. They were the sun and the moon. He died in this house.” She glanced at her watch. “My word, I didn’t realize so much time has passed. I’ve got pies in the oven.” She edged towards the door. “I just wanted to meet you.”

“How did you know I was here?” I walked her to the door.

May smiled and I suddenly felt exposed. Jason had called her a “nosy old bitch,” and now I knew why, at least from his standpoint. She’d make keeping secrets as hard as keeping your hand out of the cookie jar, and Jason had kept a lot of skeletons locked in that dark closet that was his mind.

She laughed faintly. “I knew. I just knew. Galen and I never thought anyone in the family would ever live at Breakaway again. That’s why he moved in here. We never told Jason.” She gave me a keen look and added, “I’m pleased you’re giving it a try. This house belongs to you… and you belong to it.”

“You don’t know how much I needed to hear that,” I said, swallowing a sudden swell of tears. It had been so long since anybody had been nice to me, had acted like I wasn’t tainted. I almost believed her.

“Words can be powerful allies. Or enemies.” May glanced up at the sky. “It’s going to be hot this afternoon. My garden can use the warmth.”

“Let me walk you to the path. I need to bring in Circe.”

“Circe?”

“My cat. She’s been in the carrier for several hours. We took several breaks along the way, but I’m afraid she’s probably fighting mad by now. She hates to travel.”

“I don’t blame her. Come, let’s get her settled, then.” As we headed toward my car, she said, “My Galen was a veterinarian. Did you know that?”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. Jason never said anything about his life here, or his family. He told me Breakaway Farm was a moldering dump.”

“Jason had more problems than his parents wanted to admit,” May said as we reached my Pathfinder. I had to pull out a couple of the suitcases first, but I finally had Circe in hand. May picked up the bag containing the new litter box and bag of litter.

I protested. “You don’t have to do that—your pies, remember?”

“Laurel, I can carry an empty litter box. The pies will keep for another few minutes. They’re huckleberry, by the way.”

“Thank you,” I said.

May led me to the half bath on the first floor. “Why don’t you lock her in here until you get your unloading done? She’ll be fine if you set up her box and fetch her some water.”

Circe let out a yowl, staring indignantly from her cage.

With a laugh, May said, “What a pretty calico! And she’s a lively one, I’ll bet. There are lots of mice and shrews out here. She’ll have fun hunting.”

We put her in the bath and I unpacked her litter box and filled it, then set out food and water before walking May down the path.

As she passed the car, she pointed to my portfolio. “You paint, don’t you? You don’t have much else with you,” she added.

I shook my head. “I travel light. Easier that way.”

“Well, then, good-bye. I’ll bring you over one of my pies.” And, just like that, the fey woman vanished down a side path, quiet as a whisper.

HE COULD FEEL the cat’s presence before he could find her. When he was hiding in the mirrors, he would travel from one to the next and so forth, and now he peeked out of the bathroom mirror to look at the calico, who stared up at him, eyes glowering, with a hiss.

“You may not pass,” she said. “She’s mine. I won’t let you hurt her.”

He laughed and a thousand chimes blew in the wind, low and reverberant. Inclining his head with respect, he said, “Mistress of Cats, little protector. In life, I tended to your kind. I mean no harm to you. What can you tell me about her?”

And Circe, her emerald eyes glinting in the light that filtered through the window, whispered one word, “Lonely.” And then, pleading, “Don’t hurt her.”