The hand moved to Celeste’s cheek, and brushed more tears away. Celeste had no doubt that her grandfather, the kindhearted man who had died when she was fourteen, was now taking care of her once more. Stroking her hair. Drying her tears.
“Not yet, Granddaddy. Please. I want to be with him. I can’t leave, not yet.”
Pausing for a moment, the hand touched Celeste’s cheek once more, then disappeared. The light disappeared with it, leaving the middle room-and Celeste-in complete darkness.
She heard the voices down the path to the right. They were screaming something, but she was too spent to determine what the words were.
Was it her name?
Maybe, maybe not. She couldn’t concentrate enough to be sure.
Was it possible to actually end it all in the middle? To stay right here, freezing cold and unable to move, unable to speak, and then simply stop existing? Because that’s what she felt like right now, like if she stopped thinking, stopped listening, that she would merely fade away. No more voices. No more light.
And no more Dax.
She couldn’t let that happen, Celeste realized as her eyes grew so heavy that she couldn’t keep them open. She fought that, too. How would she have a chance at going back down Dax’s path if she couldn’t even keep her eyes open to see the way?
The shivering intensified and reminded her of that type of uncontrollable shaking that occurred when individuals were in shock, or intense pain. She’d seen a lot of people go through that on the day of the bus wreck. Was that what was causing her to tremble from head to toe, her teeth audibly chattering and the chilling sound echoing off the walls of this room? Or was she simply cold? Or tired?
Or fading from existence?
Don’t! she mentally screamed, trying to force her eyes to remain open. But in spite of all her efforts, her spirit lost all ability to fight the inevitable, and her lids slid closed.
14
DAX WIPED his forearm across his sweaty brow and stared at the piles of brown and gold magnolia leaves lining the driveway. He could have waited until Saturday, when all of the cousins would come to the plantation for their weekly workday, to rake the mountains of leaves. No doubt the job wouldn’t have been so difficult with a few more hands, but then his muscles wouldn’t be aching, his back wouldn’t be hurting and his body wouldn’t be covered in hard-earned sweat.
Right now, he wanted to ache, hurt and sweat. He wanted his body to feel, the same type of misery that his soul was feeling.
For the past three weeks, since the day Celeste had disappeared, he’d worked sixteen-hour days six days a week, in an effort to keep himself so busy he wouldn’t remember how badly he hurt.
It hadn’t helped. He’d only had more time behind the wheel to think about the precious few hours he’d spent with Celeste, and to think about how barren his life would be without her.
What if they’d permanently exhausted her spirit from that last visit? Had she crossed over completely because she didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore?
He dropped the rake, took off his gloves and flung them away, then saw Nanette’s car heading up the driveway. She slowed as she neared, rolled down her window and cleared her throat.
“It’s Wednesday,” she said.
“Right.” He really wasn’t in the mood for small talk, or even a sarcastic “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Okay. So, it’s the middle of the week, and you don’t look as though you’ve been to work today.” She glanced behind her. “And judging from those piles of leaves, you’ve been raking all afternoon.”
When Dax didn’t comment, or ask her point, she continued, “Well, I’m glad you finally decided to take a day off. You’ve been working yourself to death ever since-well, for the past few weeks.”
“Working myself to death?” he questioned, scoffing at her odd choice of words, particularly when their family dealt with the dead on a regular basis. “Not quite. And I didn’t willingly take a day off. My regional rep ordered me to take the rest of this week and all of next week off to relax. Seems he was tired of explaining why I was showing up twice as often as normal.”
She smirked. “Well, good for your regional rep. But if you’re supposed to be relaxing, you’ve got a funny way of going about it. Why didn’t you wait until we could help you with all of that?”
“Didn’t want to.” He could have said more, but of the things he didn’t want to do right now, talking about Celeste topped the list.
“Fine. Well, I’m going in to start dinner. I had a heck of a day at school, by the way, in case you’re interested. It started with one of the sophomores accidentally stepping on the gas instead of the brake when he was trying to park his car, and sending the thing into the building near my classroom.”
Dax’s eyes widened. “He okay?”
She laughed. “He’s fine. Shook up, but okay. So don’t worry, he shouldn’t be visiting you anytime soon.”
“That’s good.” Dax was glad the boy was all right, but he did hope that he got another ghostly visit soon. He figured it would better his chances of seeing Celeste.
“Leave the piles, and we’ll bag them later,” she said, then drove off.
Dax decided to take her up on that offer. He’d been raking the majority of the afternoon, and he was ready to head inside and cool down. True, it was November now, but in Louisiana, while some months might be cooler, they all fell pretty much under the same classification-hot.
He picked up his discarded gloves and slapped them against his jeans to remove the excess dirt, then he grabbed the rake and started heading toward the work shed behind the house. Rounding the corner of the porch, he stopped walking to take in the scene. Red. Everywhere. His grandmother’s prized poinsettias blazed crimson and towered against the side of the house in a brilliant hedge that would be worthy of a Southern Living cover photo.
Grandma Adeline would be proud. And Celeste would be awed.
“I told Nelsa that when I got married one day, I wanted a Christmas wedding. The bridesmaids would wear red, and they’d carry poinsettias. I didn’t even know they could grow this big, or I’d have wanted to get married in a place where they could surround me, like this one.”
With Celeste’s words echoing in his thoughts, Dax turned away from the poinsettias and continued to the shed. He deposited the gloves and rake, then used the rear entrance of the house. He didn’t want to walk past those poinsettias again.
Nanette stood near the stove and spooned rice into two deep bowls, then covered it with gumbo out of a huge black iron pot. Her smile beamed as she turned. “You cooked, and it smells fabulous.”
Dax nodded. He’d done plenty today to keep himself busy. Cooking the gumbo had only been one small part of it. He’d also started sanding the floor in the front room that used to be a formal parlor. Right now, it was merely another empty room in need of repair. Good thing the place had plenty of them; he’d find an ample supply of work to keep his mind off Celeste. Then again, that hadn’t worked today, had it?
Nanette moved the bowls to the table, then got some drinks from the fridge. “Come on, I’m starving.”
“I need a quick shower first, then I’ll head back down.”
“Well, hurry, before the gumbo gets cold.”
He nodded, left the kitchen and started toward his room, but he didn’t really care if the gumbo was cold. He had no appetite, for gumbo or anything else…except Celeste. His hunger for her was palpable, and quite possibly would never be satisfied.
With that still on his mind, he entered the shower. As each hot droplet of water covered his skin, he remembered Celeste’s trembling hands, her warm mouth, her sweet kisses. It’d been three weeks, and he hadn’t gone one minute of that time without thinking of her. Right now, in fact, he could see her so clearly, the way she’d looked when they’d made love. Those golden curls tumbling wildly around her as her body moved over his, her mouth caressing his neck, nuzzling him as her sweet, hot center accepted every inch of him.