Taltos (Lives of the Mayfair Witches #3)(18)
Author: Anne Rice

“You know, Mona, it’s nothing anybody said.” He looked up at her. He was sad now, and it was very real, the way it is when a man of his age gets sad, and she found herself just a little frightened. “Mona, it was everything that happened to her. It was … perhaps the last thing that happened….”

Mona nodded. She tried to picture it again, the way he’d so briefly described it. The gun, the shot, the body falling. The terrible secret of the milk.

“You haven’t told anyone, have you?” he said in a serious whisper. God help her if she had, she thought, she would have died at this moment, the way he was looking at her.

“No, and I never will,” she said. “I know when to tell and when not to tell, but …”

He shook his head. “She wouldn’t let me touch the body. She insisted on carrying it down herself, and she could hardly walk. Long as I live, I’m not going to get that sight out of my mind, ever. All the rest of it—I don’t know. I can take it in stride, but something about the mother dragging the body of the daughter …”

“Did you think of it that way, like it was her daughter?”

He didn’t answer. He just continued to look off, and gradually the hurt and trouble slipped away from his face, and he chewed his lip for a second, and then almost smiled.

“Never tell anyone that part,” he whispered. “Never, never, never. No one needs to know. But someday, perhaps, she’ll want to talk about it. Perhaps it’s that, more than anything else, that’s made her silent.”

“Don’t ever worry that I’ll tell,” she said. “I’m not a child, Michael.”

“I know, honey, believe me, I know,” he said with just the warmest little spark of good humor.

Then he was really gone again, forgetting her, forgetting them, and the huge glass of gunk, as he stared off. And for one second he looked as if he was giving up all hope, as if he was in a total despair beyond the reach of anyone, even maybe Rowan.

“Michael, for the love of God, she will be all right. If that’s what it is, she’ll get better.”

He didn’t answer right away, then he sort of murmured the words:

“She sits in that very place, not over the grave, but right beside it,” he said. His voice had gotten thick.

He was going to cry, and Mona wouldn’t be able to stand it. She wanted with all her heart to go to him and put her arms around him. But this would have been for her, not him.

She realized suddenly that he was smiling—for her sake, of course—and now he gave her a little philosophical shrug. “Your life will be filled with good things, for the demons are slain,” he said, “and you will inherit Eden.” His smile grew broader and so genuinely kind. “And she and I, we will take that guilt to our graves of whatever we did and didn’t do, or had to do, or failed to do for each other.”

He sighed, and he leaned on his folded arms over the counter. He looked out into the sunshine, into the gently moving yard, full of rattling green leaves and spring.

It seemed he had come to a natural finish.

And he was his old self again, philosophical but undefeated.

Finally he stood upright and picked up the glass and wiped it with an old white napkin.

“Ah, that’s one thing,” he said, “that is really nice about being rich.”

“What?”

“Having a linen napkin,” he said, “anytime you want it. And having linen handkerchiefs. Celia and Bea always have their linen handkerchiefs. My dad would never use a paper handkerchief. Hmmm. I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”

He winked at her. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. What a dope. But who the hell else could play off a wink like that with her? Nobody.

“You haven’t heard from Yuri, have you?” he asked.

“I would have told you,” she said dismally. It was agony to hear Yuri’s name.

“Have you told Aaron that you haven’t heard from him?”

“A hundred times, and three times this morning. Aaron hasn’t heard anything, either. He’s worried. But he’s not going back to Europe, no matter what happens. He’ll live out his days with us right here. He says to remember that Yuri is incredibly clever, like all the investigators of the Talamasca.”

“You do think something has happened?”

“I don’t know,” she said dully. “Maybe he just forgot about me.” It was too dreadful to contemplate, it couldn’t have been that way. But one had to face things, didn’t one? And Yuri was a man of the world.

Michael looked down into the drink. Maybe he would have the brains to see it was flat-out undrinkable. Instead he picked up a spoon and started to stir it.

“You know, Michael, that just may shock her out of her trance,” Mona said. “I mean, while she’s drinking it, right at that very moment, when half the glass is sliding down her throat, just tell her in a clear voice what’s in it.”

He chuckled, his deep-chested, fabulous chuckle. He picked up the jug of slop and poured a full, egregious glass of it.

“Come on, come out there with me. Come and see her.”

Mona hesitated. “Michael, I don’t want her to see both of us together, you know, standing side by side.”

“Use a little of your own witchcraft, honey. She knows I am her slave till the day I die.”

His expression changed again, very slowly. He was looking at her in a calm but almost cold fashion. And again there came over her a sense of how bereft he really was.

“Yeah, bereft,” he said, and there was something almost mean in his smile. He didn’t say anything more. He picked up the glass and went out the door.

“Let’s go talk to the lady,” he said over his shoulder. “Let’s go read her mind together. Two heads, you know, and all that. Maybe we should do it again, Mona, on the grass, you know, you and me, and maybe she’d wake up.”

Mona was shocked. Did he mean that? No, that wasn’t the question. The question was, How could he say that?

She didn’t answer him, but she knew what he felt. Or at least she thought she did. On some level she knew she couldn’t really know, that things were painful for a man of his age in a different way from what they were for a young girl. She knew this in spite of so many people having told her this, more or less. It was a matter not of humility but logic.

She followed him out onto the flagstones and along the pool and then into the rear gates. His jeans were so tight, she could hardly stand it. His natural walk was a seductive swagger. This is nice, think sexy thoughts! No way! And his polo shirt wasn’t exactly loose-fitting either. She loved the way it moved over his shoulders and back.