“I don’t want to talk Chantel. As a matter of fact...”
Words that were the sum total of ‘get out‘ teetered on the tip of his tongue; and he would have mouthed them, had it not been for a knock on his door.
Chantel said...
“That must be Clive. I told him to meet me here. We’re going out for dinner. Marisela thought that you might want to join us--evening out our numbers.”
Lucien wanted to groan, and he would later because Chantel had outdone herself. Not only had she brought Marisela to his home; she’d arranged a scenario that amounted to a double date.
He stood from his seat, and he spoke while walking in the direction of the door.
“No thanks sis. I have plans for the evening.”
“Oh pleeeease.” Marisela trill, making him want to plug his ears.
He crossed over the threshold, leading to the foyer. They were out of sight, and he considered ditching the trio, if it came down to it. He reached for the doorknob while speaking loud enough to be heard in the other room.
“Not this time ladies. You’ll both have to share Clive as your escort. I’m sure my brother-in-law will get a kick out of that. What blue blooded man wouldn’t want the pleasure of having to lovely ladies on either side of him.”
“Not funny” Chantel had said, and he ignored her while pulling open the door.
“Clive...your wife is a...”
His voice dropped to a whisper, when he said...
“Ona...what are you... I mean...how did you get here?”
Ona was wearing the long black overcoat that he’d become accustom to seeing. There was nothing out of the ordinary when it came to her clothes; but by her demeanor, she appeared distraught and her eyes were the picture of grief. He stepped aside, clearing a path for her to enter. He touched the tip of her elbow, and he felt a wetness on the pads of his fingers. A light snow had begun to fall, and her hair was wet because she’d neglected to cover it. He’d seen her standing here in his apartment many times, but he sensed that this visit wouldn’t resemble the others.
“Ona...” The sound of his voice crisscrossed her senses; and instead of hearing him, his pronouncement had felt like the caress of his fingers. In that moment he’d wheeled one word that had had the power to overtake her. She felt the sway of the floor before completely losing the strength in her legs. A range of feelings overtook her; uncertainty, hesitation, resolution, then abject misery, brought on by defeat. When she heard Lucien recite her name, she’d been jolted by her refusal. Seeing Lucien had forced her to accept what she already knew. She didn’t love Geff and she couldn’t give herself to him in marriage. She lifted red rimmed eyes, and her knees grew weaker. Lucien encased her in his arms, steadying her. He’d wanted to shepherd her away, taking her to a part of his apartment where she wouldn’t be seen. And he would have done that, but when he turned them both around, Marisela and Chantel had been standing just beyond the foyers entrance.
Chantel wrinkled her forehead, and her eyes did a slow up and down appraisal, before saying...
“Lucien...perhaps I should call Clive and tell him to meet us at the restaurant. By the look of things, you might need my assistance.”
Ona lowered her eyes, avoiding their gaze. She felt Lucien’s fingers when he tightened his hold, and she felt a firmness in his chest when he spoke.
“Maybe you and Marisela should join Clive at the restaurant.” His eyes narrowed when he said...”As a matter of fact...that’s exactly what you two ladies should do.”
He looked at the door, then back to Chantel, and his voice hinted that she shouldn’t cross him.
“Don’t worry Chantel. I’ve got this covered.”
Chantel looked at Marisela, and she couldn’t bare witnessing her disappointment. She didn’t know at what point her friend had made the mistake of falling in love with her brother. More to the point; she didn’t know what foolishness Lucien had gotten himself involved in. A Samaritan girl; really!
“Come on Marisela. Maybe my brother will join us later this evening. It is getting rather late.”
She averted his eyes, and the late hour reference was a dig at the Samaritan transportation system. Chantel and Lucien had talked about the Samaritan ferry and she knew that the last boat for the day would be departing soon.
Marisela stepped out into the vestibule, dejected and before Chantel joined her, she gave her brother the evil eye. He waited and watched as she closed the door and once she was on the other side; he heaved a sigh. They were alone. Lucien directed his attention on Ona.
“Ona...the ferry...” He guided her out of the foyer, directing her into the living room area. His brain sprung to life, recalling the dock schedule, then he said...
“You’ll never make it back in time to board the last ferry. Is there someone we can call to ask the boat master to wait?”
He led her to a chair because he didn’t trust that she wouldn’t fall. He’d placed his hand at the curve of her back, and through her layers of clothing he could feel her trembling.
Ona’s voice quavered. The tone possessed no vigor and the sound was flat with a metered cadence.
“I had been on my way to Geff’s to join my parents when I heard the sound, indicating that the last ferry for the day was leaving in route to the dock. I don’t know how it happened, but...my feet turned and my brain willed me in that direction. I don’t even know what I said when the boat master reminded me of the time.”
Lucien kneeled in front of her. He touched her hand, intending to lace her fingers, but instead he cupped her hands with both of his own. Conclusions flashed in his brain, and he didn’t much care for any of his notions.
He masked his disapproval when he said...
“How did you get here? Did you walk...or did you take a bus”
Lucien’s apartment wasn’t within walking distance of the dock. Normally whenever Ona traveled to see him, he would furnish one of his drivers. He cringed, considering what she’d done without the use of one of his limos. He rubbed her hands, generating heat to warm her fingers. It was then that he’d begun to notice other things. Ona’s expression was flat, and her eyes were red, and by the look of them he was certain that she’d been crying. He lifted from his knees, taking a seat next to her on the sofa. He turned partway then he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into the warmth of his chest. He stroked her hair, and he soothed her with the comfort of his words.
“You don’t have to answer that question. You’re here now...and you’re safe; nothing else matters. Whatever happened...you needn’t worry. Whatever it is...we’ll figure it out together.”
Lucien felt a tug from his brain and the warning cautioned him not to make promises that he might not be able to keep. As much as he wanted to sit, giving her the peaceful quiet that she seemed to need; he had to know what had occurred between her and her family. What had been so awful, that she would risk coming to see him; all the while knowing that she would never make it back to the dock on time.
He said her name, hoping that his calm would coax her out of her protective shell.
“Ona...you’re cold and you’re wet. Baby...you’ll catch your death of cold if you don’t get out of these clothes. Come on honey...follow me to the bedroom. I’ll lay out something dry and warm for you to change into, and don’t worry--I’ll leave, giving you your privacy.”
She didn’t say a word, so he stood, and when he offered her his hand, he noticed her robotic movements. Not long after she’d slipped out of her wet coat, then the dress that she’d worn for the party; Ona put on the dry clothes that Lucien had laid out for her to wear; a Yale sweatshirt that looked and felt like it had never been worn. The matching pants were too large, and she’d rolled the band twice to shorten the length of the legs. Her feet had begun to warm and she was beginning to feel the tips of her toes. She heard a knock on the bedroom door, then she heard the knob slowly turning. He partially opened the door, sticking his head in to peek. Ona sat on the foot of his bed, dawning a pair of white sweat socks. She didn’t know what she looked like to him, but when he walked into the room, his face held a pleased expression.