THE NIGHT PROGRESSED at the creeping pace of finely tuned torture. Kirsten fought her bed until it could hold her no longer. She dressed and went for a walk. But the night tracked her every move. Defeated, she returned to the stale room with its bleak lighting. There should have been some reward, some offering of peace for turning from Erin’s lure. Instead, the ghouls of her past gibbered and shrieked in panicked fury. And right alongside this clamor was the truth she could no longer escape. She longed desperately for Marcus. She craved his voice, his touch, the smell of him. The strengths and the weaknesses, the wounded gaze, the resolve. Yet she feared him as much as she yearned for him. Probably more. She could hear him now, speaking in that soft tone that left her quivering with hunger and terror both.
Her desire for Marcus was an affront to all the rules she had used to rebuild her shattered existence. She survived by never, ever wanting anything this much. Most especially a man.
Finally at five in the morning she reached for the phone. Which meant it would be midnight, Rocky Mount time. But that could not be helped.
Deacon Wilbur answered on the second ring. He sounded instantly awake, in the manner of one who had fielded his share of late-night entreaties. He brushed aside her apology. “Where are you, daughter?”
“London. Can I speak with Fay, please?”
There was the rustling and the murmurs, and a longer pause than Kirsten would have expected. Then Fay demanded, “You really in England like my man says?”
She heard another phone click off, and realized the old woman had moved to another part of the house. “Yes. I’m sorry about the hour.”
“You forget who you’re talking to here. Ain’t that long ago, a night without the midnight alarm was so rare we talked about it for days. We still keep the old coffee sitting on the counter.” There came the sounds of a door shutting and a microwave fan whirring. “Marcus’ granddaddy used to like me to drop half an eggshell into his pot.”
“It sounds horrid.”
“Adds a certain tang, is all. If the pot’s been sitting all day the brew don’t grow so bitter. I ’spect after a while, the taste is just natural. You perk every cup up fresh, I suppose.”
Kirsten sighed her way down to the floor by her hotel bed. “Usually.”
The oven timer pinged. “I’m glad you called, child. I didn’t have any right talking to you the way I did.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
“Well now.” Fay took a noisy sip. “You’re not running scared, are you, honey?”
Kirsten was trapped, not by this woman, but the day. “All my life I’ve made it work by not caring too much. Not showing too much. Not talking too much.”
“Let’s see what you got going into this. You lost both your folks, isn’t that right?”
“When I was twenty.”
“You’re a pretty lady. You must’ve had yourself other men friends along the way.”
“I don’t even want to talk about them.”
“So your trial runs didn’t turn out that well.” Another sip. “Not too far back, your best friend Gloria went and got herself killed over in China. Now you’re living down here in a strange place without any family of your own. And you’re looking at life with a man who’s carrying his own set of scars.” A tight trace of humor colored Fay’s words. “I’d say you’ve got every reason to be scared.”
“I’ve tried my best to run away.”
“And it didn’t work.”
“No.”
“You aim on giving life with Marcus a chance?”
“I want it and I don’t want it.”
“Sounds to me as though you don’t think you’re good enough for him.”
Kirsten dropped her head. This wasn’t working. The tumult was just growing worse.
“Don’t you go hiding behind that silence of yours. Answer me, child. You figure something’s just so wrong and all messed up you can’t do right by this man. Is that it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Okay. Now we’re getting somewhere. You got something inside yourself that makes you feel impure. So you’ve been trying to convince yourself you don’t love him. Which we both know is a lie.”
“But it’s a comfortable lie.”
Fay snorted. “Would be if it worked.”
“Yes.”
“Honey, people like to think they come into any new relationship all cleaned up. That’s just a fable the world wants you to believe, so you’ve got an excuse to walk away when things don’t go right. Child, love is a filthy business. You got your problems, he got his. But love gives you the strength to walk through the messes of life together. Love is a process. You commit yourself to getting in there and working together to make sense out of what life’s done to you both.”
“I don’t know if I can do that. Make it work.”
“Of course you don’t. I lived with this man of mine for fifty-six years and I still don’t know how I’m gonna meet tomorrow.”
“What does Deacon think about me?”
“You’re nothing to that man of mine ’cept one more daughter. And that ain’t what we’re talking about here.”
“What do I tell Marcus?”
“Honey, you tell him what you can.”
“What if …” She couldn’t even finish the sentence.
Fay’s voice reached across the void and gripped her. “Believe you me. He knows. That Marcus is a smart young man. He’s seen inside you long time ago. He’s just been waiting for you to say your piece.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Then you just go and tell God first.” The matter-of-fact tone struck hard as fists. “You’re ready to pour out the oil from your alabaster box now. Ain’t nobody else will ever know the cost of that oil you’re ready to pour on the Master’s feet, or how much you done paid for those tears you’ve been waiting to shed. But he knows. Oh my. Ain’t that the blessed truth. And that’s all you need to remember, child. He’s waiting for you to kneel there and weep for him. He’s already done counted every one of these jewels. And they are precious in his sight.”