Chapter Six
Sometime after midnight, Richard felt the mattress dip as someone crawled under the blankets. He rolled over, spooning the body of his wife. Her figure was familiar and soft, and he sighed loudly as he pressed against her.
She sighed equally in contentment, as she always had in such moments, nestling into him.
“I’ve missed you.” He stroked her hair, kissing it. It didn’t seem strange to him that her hair was long and straight, the way it had been before chemotherapy.
“I’ve missed you, too, darling.” Grace reached for his hand and wound their fingers together.
Richard felt her wedding and engagement rings tap against his wedding band. He was glad he hadn’t removed it.
“I dream about you.”
She kissed where their rings touched. “I know.”
“You were so young. We had our lives ahead of us, so many things we wanted to do.” His voice caught on the last word.
“Yes.”
“I miss this,” he whispered. “Holding you in the dark. Hearing your voice. I can’t believe I lost you.”
Grace freed his left hand and pulled it toward her chest.
Richard steeled himself for the feel of the concave impressions where her br**sts had been. Although he was sorrowful over her scars, it never bothered him to look at or touch her there. But she wouldn’t permit it.
She’d been planning on having reconstructive surgery, but the cancer returned, making surgery impossible. She was always beautiful to him, always enchanting, even at the end.
As she brought his hand up, his palm met round, full flesh. He hesitated, but only for a moment. She placed her hand over his and pressed.
“I’ve been healed,” she whispered. “It was more wonderful than you can imagine. And it didn’t hurt.”
Richard’s eyes pricked. “Healed?”
“No pain. No tears. And it’s so, so beautiful.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were sick.” His voice caught again. “I should have paid attention. I should have noticed.”
“It was my time.” She reached down and kissed the back of his hand. “There’s so much I want to show you. But not yet. Rest, my love.”
The next morning, Richard awoke to an empty bed and the knowledge that he’d been given a very precious gift. He felt lighter, more at peace than he had been in a long time. He breakfasted with his family and began making arrangements to resign from his research position in Philadelphia.
In the next week, he put his condo up for sale and hired movers to return his things to the house he’d bought with his wife so many years ago. Gabriel insisted that the items they’d placed in storage also be returned to the house.
When the moving trucks arrived, he directed the movers to the master bedroom, asking them to remove its furniture before bringing in Richard’s.
“No.” Richard placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “The guest room is mine now.”
Gabriel indicated to the movers that they should give him a minute. He turned to his father, eyebrows knitted together.
“Why don’t you want your old room?”
“The master bedroom is yours now, with Julia. She’s painted it and made it her own. I won’t undo that.”
Gabriel protested, but Richard lifted his hand to stop him.
“Grace will be with me wherever I sleep. She’ll find me in the guest room.” He clapped his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder once again before calling to the movers and directing them upstairs.
Gabriel wasn’t about to argue with his father, especially when he seemed content with his decision. And if he found his father’s remarks strange, he kept that to himself.
(But in truth, he didn’t find the remarks strange.)
That night, when the house was empty and quiet, Richard could almost imagine Grace getting into bed with him. He rolled onto his side and slept peacefully before meeting her in his dreams.
Chapter Seven
July 2011
Oxford, England
Professor Gabriel O. Emerson peered contemptuously around the modest guest room in staircase five of the Cloisters of Magdalen College. His blue eyes alighted on a pair of twin beds that were situated along the wall, and he pointed at them.
“What the hell are those?”
Julia’s eyes followed the path of his accusatory finger. “I think those are beds.”
“I can see that. We’re leaving.”
He picked up their bags and approached the door, but she stopped him.
“It’s late, Gabriel. I’m tired.”
“Exactly. Where the hell are we supposed to sleep?”
“Where do Magdalen students usually sleep? On the floor?”
He gave her a withering look. “I’m not sleeping in a ridiculous abomination of a single bed ever again. We’re checking into the Randolph.”
She rubbed her eyes with both hands. “Our reservation isn’t until two days from now. And besides, you promised.”
“Nigel promised me one of the unused don’s rooms, a room with a double bed and an en-suite.” He looked around. “Where’s the double bed? Where’s the en-suite? We’ll have to share the bathroom with God knows who else!”
“I don’t mind sharing a bathroom with the other guest room for two nights. We’ll be at the conference most of the time.”
Ignoring her husband’s irate sputtering, Julia walked to the window, which overlooked the beautiful quadrangle below. She stared longingly at the strange stone figures that were set above the archways to the right.
“You told me that C.S. Lewis was inspired by those statues when he wrote The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”
“That’s what they say,” Gabriel said in a clipped voice.
She rested her forehead against the leaded glass. “Do you think his ghost ever wanders around here?”
“I doubt he’d haunt a room like this.” Gabriel sniffed. “He’s probably at the pub.”
Julia closed her eyes. It had been a long day, traveling from the hotel in London to the railway station, then to Oxford, and now here. She was so very, very tired.
He took in her subdued form from across the room.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts, Julianne. You know that.” His voice was gentle.
“What about when you saw Grace and Maia?”
“That was different.”
She looked at the statues wistfully before joining him at the door, wearing a defeated expression.
“Would it make you unhappy to stay at the hotel?” His eyes searched hers. “We’d have greater privacy.”