an out-of-focus kaleidoscope, but on other
days my recall is painfully perfect.
― Mordecai Richler
Clare
It was just dinner, I reminded myself, but couldn't stop shaking.
I was helplessly stuck, sitting in my SUV on the Lightbourne's circular drive and willing myself to get out of the car but couldn't.
It wasn't Lillian, I told myself, but just saying so was hopelessly ineffectual.
I was frozen and paralyzed by fear and willing myself to move was akin to ordering myself not to be embarrassed, when the very attempt intensified the embarrassment even more.
This is insane, I tried reprimanding myself―bad enough I see ghosts at night, but now, must I dine with them?
A soft rapping on the window brought me back to reality―or did it?
My wraith, like Catherine in Wuthering Heights, was hovering just outside my window.
I lowered the glass wondering if a small cold hand would grasp my wrist and beg to come in.
"I thought we should meet first," she smiled, "away from my parents' prying eyes―they mean well but can sometimes be overbearing."
It took me a moment to recover my wits but I finally managed to stammer. "Good idea―I'm Marcus Sterne."
"Clare Lightbourne," she ginned mischievously and extended her hand which I shook and was relieved to find it was not cold but soft and warm.
"Have we met before, Mr. Sterne? You look very familiar."
"I don't think we've been introduced―if we had I would definitely have remembered you."
She coloured slightly―a faint pink glow that was so adorable I melted inside.
The mischievous sparkle was back in her eyes. "Could I have my hand back, Mr. Sterne?"
I was so entranced by her beauty I didn't realize I was still grasping her hand.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I muttered, releasing my grasp. "Actually, you do look familiar. Perhaps we've seen each other before."
It was a lame excuse but I felt I needed a pretext.to cover my stupidity.
"I doubt we've seen each other before since I've been comatose for two years and Father tells me you just recently returned to West Harbour."
"Ah yes, of course, that wouldn't make sense," I muttered.
But neither would telling you we've been visiting in dreams and you occasionally appear at the foot of my bed.
It was a good thing she couldn't read my thoughts.
"Well, it will give us something to discuss over dinner, Mr. Sterne," she smiled, "that is, if you've decided to come in."
I was drawn to her as men are drawn to every bright thing, and had no will to resist regardless of whether it led to my immolation or consummation.