10

 

“No, no, no,” Colleen whispered hoarsely as she searched room after room. “No, that’s not what I meant.” The history books he checked out from the library–gone. The plush velour throw he had insisted on buying her when he felt how soft it was, last seen wrapped around them both as they watched Nigel Terry in Excalibur–gone. Tears flowed in earnest when she checked the guest bedroom–none of his clothes hanging in the closet, the rollaway shoved back into its resting place next to the pile of unpacked boxes. His big leather boots, tucked away next to the dresser–gone. Using all her strength, she yanked the cot out and snatched up the sheets, pressing them to her face. Musty.

She threw them down with a cry and ran back to the bedroom, tripping over one of the coffee table legs and falling flat. She gave it a vicious kick and scrambled to her feet, running back to the bedroom. Climbing atop the bed, she grabbed the bedspread with both hands and sniffed that too, craving Faolan’s unique spicy and masculine scent. Nothing. He was never here.

Colleen fell back on the bed, her entire body wracked with deep, heaving sobs. Her breathing was so labored she almost didn’t hear the doorbell’s nonstop ringing. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and ran to the door. Rising up on her tiptoes, she looked through the peephole. Sandy–maybe she’d remember.

“Just a second,” she cried, opening the locks as quickly as her fumbling fingers would allow. She flung the door open and faced her friend, who stood there holding a foil covered casserole dish in both hands.

“My God, sweetie. What’s wrong?” Sandy was shocked at Colleen’s appearance. Without waiting for an invitation in, Sandy pushed past her and came inside, kicking the door closed behind her. “What the hell is going on? What happened?”

Colleen looked at her reflection in the mirror with eyes red rimmed and haunted, noticing for the first time that she had on her own clothes. She wondered briefly how long she had been gone. “I need for you to answer a question for me and it’s really important. Do you remember meeting my boyfriend?” she asked, her voice quavering. “His name is Faolan.”

“Um…no, sweetie. If you had a boyfriend, you sure didn’t mention him to me,” Sandy said cautiously. “Maybe you better sit down. Can I get you something?”

Yes, I’d like my heart back, please. The big Scottish guy has it. “No,” Colleen interrupted as the tears started flowing again. She nodded at the pan. “Lasagna?” she choked out.

“Yeah,” Sandy said, tilting her head. “How’d you know? I made extra, thought you’d like some.”

“Lucky guess,” Colleen sighed, sinking down onto the couch. She took a deep, shuddering breath to collect herself and swiped at her eyes again.

Sandy left to put the dish in the refrigerator and came back out a minute later. “Are you sure you’re okay? If you like, I can hang out for a while. If you want to talk or anything, I’m all ears,” she said with a cautious smile.

Colleen shook her head. “Thanks anyway. I just…want to be alone right now.” She rose and moved to the door, holding it open for Sandy to leave.

Sandy took the hint, but was in obvious conflict about leaving Colleen alone. “If you change your mind, just let me know,” Sandy assured her, “I’m just a few feet away.”

With a nod, Colleen closed the door and one by one fastened the five locks that kept out the rest of the world. She walked back to the couch and sank down to the floor. Folding her arms across the coffee table, she lowered her head and sobbed.

* * * *

When she awoke to the phone ringing, it was daylight and the way her body ached told her she had been in that position for longer than just a few hours. She snatched up her phone to look at the date and time and realized with horror she was late for work.

“Hello?” she croaked, her throat dry and cracked.

“Colleen? Is everything all right, dear? You were supposed to be here an hour ago,” Mrs. Weston asked, concern lacing the older woman’s voice. “I’ve never known you to be late without at least calling first.”

“I’m…sick,” Colleen lied. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call; I must have fallen asleep. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”

“Not if you’re sick, you won’t,” her manager assured her. “It’s not supposed to be very busy today, so why don’t you just stay in bed and rest. I’m sure we’ll be fine. Do you think you’ll be well by tomorrow?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be…fine,” she said, pressing end. Numb with pain, Colleen wandered into the kitchen to find everything as she left it. TV dinners stacked neatly in the freezer, full container of milk in the fridge. In the pantry she saw the jar of peanut butter and broke down again when she lifted it and found it full. Unable to muster any appetite at all, she headed for the bathroom and turned on the water for a shower.

Pulling off her clothes piece by piece, she sniffed her arms and shoulders, desperate to smell Faolan on her skin to reassure her she wasn’t going crazy. The long, hot shower didn’t help either, with memories of washing each other–and other things–buzzing around in her brain like mournful bees.

She dried off and picked up the hairbrush, knowing she would not find strands of long, ebony hair. Automatically brushing her hair and teeth, she crawled into bed. “I dreamt it. The whole thing was just a stupid dream,” she said with a heavy sob. She turned the other pillow sideways and fell asleep crying softly with her arms wrapped tightly around it.

The following morning she rose and got ready for work, moving woodenly through her regular routine. At work she pasted a smile upon her face, but still ended up crying in the bathroom whenever she saw something that reminded her of Faolan, which was often. Her heart broke anew at each memory of his smile, his laugh, and she ached in places she never remembered having ached before.

Near the end of the week Marc gave her a call at home. “Hey, I found some of your papers in my safe…” he began.

Colleen sat curled up on the couch and wrapped in a heavy afghan, staring sightlessly into the dark TV screen. “Bring them to my office,” she snapped.

“Ooh, someone’s a little testy,” Marc quipped. “Boyfriend trouble?”

Colleen froze. “Something like that,” she said, her voice hopeful. “You don’t by any chance remember meeting him, do you?”

“How could I have met him? He doesn’t exist,” Marc said with a short bark of laughter. “Really, Colleen. We both know you don’t–”

“Fuck off, Marc,” she said, pressing end. As good as saying that felt, it lifted her spirits only slightly. The feeling was short lived as another wave of depression threatened to drown her in the overwhelming quiet.

On Friday after work, Colleen drove to the formal wear store that she had taken Faolan to–dreamt she had taken, she corrected herself–and after a bit of searching found the green evening gown. She couldn’t bring herself to try it on again; the dress was zipped inside in a hanging bag and she stuffed it in the guest closet as soon as she got home.

* * * *

The days turned into weeks. Each day, Colleen forced herself from the bed to maintain a normal façade. When she awoke on a rainy Saturday morning, she took a good look around. “Christ, it’s filthy in here,” she said, setting to work with vacuum and cleaners. The vigorous activity was making her feel better, she realized, so she threw herself into it with gusto. She dusted, sneezing from the accumulation and even unpacked a box or two in the guest room.

By dark, she finished both bathrooms and had moved into her bedroom. Humming under her breath, she dusted the dresser first then stood on top of the bed to get the ceiling fan. Tiny dust particles filled the air as she passed the nylon duster over the blades. When something squirming and brown flew off the fan base she shrieked, dropping the duster to the floor.

“Damn palmetto bugs,” she snapped, making a mental note to call the building supervisor to spray. She hopped down off the bed and reached for the fallen duster. Her gaze caught on something sparkling on the floor between the nightstand and the bed. She dropped to her knees to pick it up, and her breath caught in her throat.

The amulet lay on the floor where it had fallen when Faolan knocked it from her hand. “No, I dreamt that,” she insisted to the silence. “It wasn’t real. None of it was real.” Still, it wasn’t going to hurt anything to try… She stood up, holding the amulet in both hands.

Colleen ran her fingers over the strange markings and watched for movement in the center stone, but there was none. She tried to remember her exact words. “I wish for my perfect man,” she recited as the tears began to fall. “One that will love me for me, who will be faithful, and funny, and strong and…” Her voice began to break, “…I want my Faolan back. Please. Thank you.”

She stood waiting, holding her breath. When there was no blinding white light or the sound of a breaking table, she fell back on the bed clasping the necklace to her chest, no longer able to deny the truth, even to herself. “He’s gone. He’s nothing but dust by now,” she sobbed, realizing the man she loved more than life itself had been dead and buried for over seven hundred years.

* * * *

Another two weeks went by. Colleen lost weight and the circles under her eyes were a testimony to many sleepless nights. As run down as she was, it came as no surprise that she caught the bug being passed around the museum staff. When her coughing and sneezing didn’t get better after two days, Mrs. Weston sent her home with a stern admonition to stop by the walk in clinic. “We’ve got the awards banquet coming up in a couple of weeks. You don’t want to be sick for that,” she reminded her.

With a reluctant nod, Colleen left and drove straight to the clinic, hoping they could squeeze her in without an appointment. She had read most of the dog-eared old magazines in the waiting room by the time they called her name. The perky nurse was almost annoying with her cheerful demeanor. “So what are you here for today?” the young woman chirped.

“It’s a virus going around work,” Colleen complained, snatching up a tissue to blow her runny nose. “I want to get whatever antibiotics I need so I can go home and sleep it off.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” the nurse smiled as she took her blood pressure, temperature and pulse. She pulled out a small plastic cup, wrote Colleen’s name on it with a sharpie pen and handed it to her. “Fill that up, please, and set it on the counter when you’re done. Then go right down the hall to Exam Room Two, second door on the right. I’ll put your file on the door.”

A short while later, Colleen sat on the paper covered table in the undersea life themed examining room. She swung her feet back and forth absently, grimacing up at the brightly colored Styrofoam fish hanging from the ceiling. She wondered briefly what a doctor’s office would have been like in the Middle Ages and decided it likely would have been pretty barbaric. She shuddered, wishing she had brought a sweater to counter the sudden chills.

With a soft knock, the doctor pushed open the door, pulling her file from the rack. In his late thirties, he had tousled brown hair and dark eyes Colleen would have found very attractive two months earlier. “Miss O’Brien,” he said, offering his hand. “What brings you in today?”

“Hi, Dr. Carter. It’s nothing serious. I’ve caught the virus going around work, sniffles, sneezing, that sort of thing.” She sighed. “I’ve been kinda run down lately. I haven’t been sleeping very well, and I generally feel like crap, but I’ve been under a…lot of stress.”

The doctor read over her chart then began the basic exam. When he finally sat down at the desk and began scribbling on his pad, Colleen looked at him hopefully. “Are you giving me antibiotics?” she asked.

“You don’t need them,” Dr. Carter smiled, handing her a prescription.

Colleen peered down at the scrawling and her eyebrows rose. “You’re writing me a prescription for vitamins? I can get these over the counter.”

He nodded. “We need to get you started on them and those are better than the ones you buy over the counter.” Still smiling, he glanced down at his notes. “I’m giving you a referral for an OB-GYN. Dr. Rosenthal is very good, he’s on your insurance plan. We’ll fax the paperwork over for you. I imagine he’ll want to see you as soon as possible. You’re a little underweight.”

Colleen’s chest tightened to the point that she couldn’t draw a breath. “And why is that?” she squeaked.

If it were possible, the doctor’s smile got even bigger. “Because you’re pregnant.”