Buried Read online

  “Stop it, Merry. You’re hurting yourself. And you’re hurting Minnie, too. She’s doubled over in the restaurant, you know.”

  I stare at the ground, undecided.

  “It won’t last long,” I say finally. “Not for her. She will heal and find someone else. Momentary pain, long-term benefit.”

  “No,” Jen says, her voice harsh. “I won’t stand by and watch you hurt both of you. And you can’t give up on love, not yet. You don’t know that you can’t handle it. It’s all conjecture. And what about the years of joy being with someone can bring? Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  I am silent for a long while, although I don’t try to break another connection. After Jen’s words, I don’t have the energy. She can’t understand this situation, not from my point of view. Who could? One would think that I would be used to loss by now, but it’s quite the opposite.

  But Jen does have a point, if not the one she intended. What’s the point of causing all this immediate pain, when the lauvan strands will fade on their own, given enough time?

  “All right,” I say. My voice sounds defeated, even to my ears. “I won’t break them.”

  Jen looks like she wants to give me a hug but is held back by something.

  “Let’s go back to dinner.” She stands and holds out her hand. I take it and haul myself up. Sometimes, I feel the weight of every one of my fifteen hundred-odd years. “They’ll be wondering where we went.”

  ***

  Minnie is pale but composed when we approach the table. Alejandro looks back and forth between Jen and me but doesn’t dare to inquire further when Jen shakes her head.

  “I heard you had a rough spell,” I say to Minnie. “Would you like me to take you home?”

  “I think that would be wise,” she says quietly then turns to Jen and Alejandro. “Thanks for a lovely evening.”

  Jen hugs Minnie tightly.

  “See you soon, Minnie.”

  Minnie and I are quiet on the way to the car. I don’t know where to begin and rehearse what to say to her before we part ways forever. I sneak a few glances at Minnie, and every time I do her face is solemn and her lauvan swirl in confusion and lingering pain. I wince. I was too hasty when I tried to rip us apart, I see that now. The long, slow method of separation will have to suffice, days and weeks of missing and longing until one by one the lauvan that connect us drift apart from each other and the yearning grows distant. Never forgotten, only dulled over time.

  It’s not until we’re in the car and halfway to Minnie’s apartment that I break the silence.

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  She grimaces and rubs her chest.

  “I’ll survive. I don’t know what that was about. I’d better go to the clinic in the morning, get it checked out.”

  I nod absently, then grip the steering wheel with tight fingers.

  “Minnie. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

  There, it’s out. Those are words that are hard to take back. Minnie’s jaw drops.

  “What? Why?” When I don’t respond immediately, she says, “Is this because of the client thing? Because I thought you didn’t care.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then what?” Minnie’s eyes bore into the side of my head, but I keep my eyes on the road. “Is it the voices you were hearing last week? What’s going on? I can handle whatever you throw at me.” She gives me a beat to respond. I leave only silence. She says in exasperation, “Do you think you’re protecting me?”

  I shake my head. I would laugh if my heart didn’t ache so much.

  “No, you have it wrong. Don’t paint me as some selfless man, too noble to want to cause you hurt. The reality is that I’m protecting myself.”

  “From what?” she says, repressed emotion sharpening her voice.

  “I’ve fallen in love with you, Minnie Dilleck,” I say. Minnie’s breath hitches. I turn left and pull over in front of her apartment building. “I’m in love, and I can’t do it. Not again. I can’t lose someone else. I need to stop this before it’s too late, before I sink too deep into us.” I finally look at Minnie, and my jaw tightens at the confusion and hurt in her eyes. Her lauvan swirl and spasm with uncertainty. “I’m sorry.”

  Minnie searches my face. The silence stretches like taffy.

  “I guess this is it,” she says finally. The words are a question, and her eyes blink away tears that she won’t let fall.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  Minnie picks up her purse from the floor of the car and puts her hand on the door handle. She turns to face me once more.

  “Call me when you change your mind,” she says. Her voice is calm again, concealing the torrent of emotion that her strands can’t hide. “I understand where your sentiments are probably coming from, but you can’t live in isolation forever. As your former psychologist and your friend, I ask you to think carefully before you push me away for good.”

  One last look, and Minnie steps out of the car and closes the door. She walks to her building and doesn’t look back.

  The weight of my decision crushes my shoulders until I could sink into my steering wheel and never peel myself off. What have I done? What could I have done differently? Nothing, is what. There was no way out of this that didn’t involve pain. Not for the first time, I wonder why I’m still here on this Earth.

  ***

  I drive home in a daze, scarcely noticing where I’m going. By luck or by habit I find myself in the parking lot of my building and sit for a moment in the cooling car. The white noise of fans outside my car window muffles my thoughts, the thoughts that swirl in a fog against the confines of my mind.

  Out of habit, again, I open the door and stumble my way to the elevator, and from there to my apartment. My fingers pull off my shirt and unbutton my pants, then I flop onto my bed. I don’t plan to leave it for a while. The fog of thoughts beat against my skull until I force myself into a trance, which eventually becomes sleep. Not that my dreams are any less painful, but they are an old pain, not the jagged, fresh wounds of today.

  CHAPTER X

  Dreaming

  Rain pelts the windows, smothering their floor-to-ceiling lengths with a smear of wetness. The constant noise grates at my nerves even through the fog of my grief, and thick velvet curtains barely dampen the sound. I lean against the windowsill and stare sightlessly across my estate. Rolling green lawns gleam with emerald damp under the gray skies, and the orchard’s blossoms are being slowly beaten away by the rain. Fruit will be scarce this year. This pains me―the pippin apples were Celeste’s favorite.

  But she's gone now. What does it matter if no fruit set this year? Celeste can't taste apples from the grave.

  There is a knock at the door of my chamber. My manservant Frederick opens the door and bows.

  “My lord?” he says.

  “What?” I growl.

  “The post has arrived. There is a letter from your solicitor, Mr. Nicholson. I took the liberty of opening it, as you instructed.”

  “Then why are you bothering me with the contents? That was the sole purpose of my instruction, so you need not come to me.”

  He bows but is not dissuaded.

  “Your properties in Suffolk require an urgent decision.”

  I hold up my hand, and he stops speaking.

  “Let Mr. Nicholson decide. I care not. I leave the matter in his eminently capable hands, and you may say as much when you write.” I turn back to the window with disinterest.

  “The post also included three invitations to dinner parties in the neighborhood, one hosted by Lady Stanton herself.”

  “I have no desire to engage in flippant conversation about the gossip from Bath or the latest in bonnet fashion. Kindly decline, as you have been requested before.” I put some iron in my words, and he looks slightly abashed.

  “One final missive―summons to court by the Prince Regent―”

  “Enough!” I roar. “Leave at once, sirrah!”

  He
bows and backs out swiftly. I sag against the wall, by turns annoyed and ashamed at my outburst. If I had visions that being a titled noble in Regency-era England would allow me to wallow in my grief in peace, I was sorely mistaken.

  Celeste would have laughed me out of my misery. We moved to England ten years ago, and this time around she styled herself as an eccentric dowager to the world, doting to her young nephew Lord Meryton, and full of sharp-edged wisdom to the rest. She ruled the neighborhood with a lace-cuffed fist, and we gleefully terrorized all the best parties in town during the season. My stomach aches with the intensity of my longing for Celeste, and I turn from the window to approach my four-poster bed. We were together for over fifty years. Perhaps I can lose myself in dreams.

  Scarcely half an hour passes before I hear the crunch of wheels on gravel. Who has come to visit me? I force myself out of bed, stumble to the door, and swing it open.

  “No visitors!” I bellow, then slam the door for good measure. If that doesn't convince Frederick that I don't wish to be disturbed, then I don't know what will. I could sack him, I suppose. I throw myself on the bed, but my rest is disturbed once more. My mouth twists in a snarl, and my fingers twitch in their desire to grasp lauvan.

  My door bursts open, and I shrink at the truly formidable sight. Mrs. Jeanine Landon, young wife of the late Mr. Landon and my longtime friend, stands at the threshold. Her chestnut ringlets are tightly curled as if they dare not stray. Her muslin gown is impeccable despite the downpour, and I can only suppose she insisted on multiple umbrellas on her trip from carriage to hall. Her yellow lauvan are taut with her resolve and are the only source of sunshine in the room. Her pert nose wrinkles in distaste at my unaired chamber and slovenly appearance.

  “Lord Meryton.” It's not a question, merely a demand for my attention. “You have isolated yourself in your country home for two months―two months!―and caused all manner of disturbance in town. I had to suffer through three of Mrs. Bailey’s whist parties on my own, and I'm certain you'll agree that I cannot bear a fourth.” She sighs and her lauvan relax slightly. “I understand that you mourn deeply for your aunt. She was a kind soul, and I admired her immensely. But you cannot renounce all society forever. You have mourned for longer than is respectable for a relation of that kind, and now it is time to be yourself once more.”

  Jeanine gives me a sharp nod after her little speech and adjusts her pristine white gloves with determined tugs. I gaze at her with frustration and something else. It has been so long since I've felt amusement that I hardly recognize the sensation.

  “You have come all this way to scold sense into me?”

  She tilts her chin up.

  “I have. And I won't take no for an answer. Frederick?” She says this last in a louder voice, and Frederick leaps around the corner and bows. He must have been waiting beside the door. I scowl at him, but it is halfhearted, and I know he can tell, for his somber face twitches with amusement. “Please prepare Lord Meryton to take tea with me.” She looks me up and down. “Do your best.”

  He barely hides his grin as he approaches me with a comb.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  I sit up and resign myself to Frederick’s ministrations.

  When I enter the parlor an hour later, Jeanine looks me over with approval from her perch on the settee.

  “You are much improved, Lord Meryton. While the beard lent you a certain rakish air, you are far handsomer without it. And far more reputable.”

  “In appearance, I suppose.” I sink onto the chair opposite with a sigh. I have been inactive for so long that even my ablutions tire me. Jeanine raises an eyebrow.

  “Indeed.”

  My butler Jenson approaches with the tea and assorted refreshments. Jeanine leans forward to pour, and my throat constricts. When Celeste was alive, pouring the tea was always her duty and her pleasure in this house. When Jeanine passes me a cup, I have a hard time croaking out thanks. A sharp eye tells me my emotion is not unnoticed.

  “I know you were close with your aunt,” Jeanine says gently. “So close, that, I sometimes doubt that she was your aunt at all.”

  My hands are motionless on my tea cup and my eyes widen involuntarily. What does she think she knows?

  “You may keep your secrets, Lord Meryton,” she says with a dainty sip of her tea. “I have no desire to pry. I have endless curiosity, of course.” She smiles impishly. “But you need not divulge. However, to the world, your mourning has carried on for too long. It is unseemly, and there is much talk of your self-imposed hermitage.”

  “Let them talk,” I say. “I care not.”

  “You may not care for your reputation, but someone must,” she says sharply. “That is why I have sent replies of acceptance to your invitations. Two dinner parties and a tea this week, if I am not mistaken.”

  “I will not go,” I say. What right had Jeanine to order me about like one of her maids? “I have no wish to murmur insipid pleasantries to the matrons or speak of shooting with the men. I especially am not inclined to make love to their empty-headed daughters. I will not go.”

  “You will. You will attend every one, and you will act as befits a young man grieving for an aunt―with some solemnity, but with lightheartedness also.”

  I close my eyes. The pain of Celeste’s passing is still so raw. How can I hide that? Why should I?

  “You will go,” Jeanine repeats. “And I will go with you, to every function. I will stay at your side, and we will come through the other side of your grief.” She leans forward, and I meet her earnest eyes, filled with compassion. “Closing yourself off from the world will not allow you to heal. Let me help you.”

  Slowly, I nod. She is right, of course. Shutting myself away is all I can manage when my lover dies, but it never helps. I never know how to wake myself up from my misery, and it gets harder every time. Jeanine’s methods might aggravate, but I cannot deny they work. I am lucky to have a friend such as she.

  CHAPTER XI

  My phone awakens me in the morning, but I don’t bother reaching for it, instead slipping back into fragmented dreams. Hours later, it rings again. I’m too far gone in my fog to be annoyed, or even curious, so I reach for it on my bedside table and check the screen. Unread texts, unanswered calls―I don’t care. I turn the phone off and lay back down.

  When I’m not sleeping, I force myself into a trance state. I hate this. I hate hurting Minnie. I hate the terrible ache in my chest. I hate that it reminds me of every loss I’ve had to endure, every memory welling up from the recesses of my mind to torment me. In the past, I’ve tried distractions to keep myself busy, but it doesn’t work and it’s far too much effort in my current state. I don’t bother anymore. It’s simpler to crawl into my proverbial cave until the pain isn’t as raw.

  My stomach eventually rebels, and I shuffle into the kitchen to shove bread into my mouth but return to bed once the hole is filled. Day fades to night and sleep follows trance. At least my lauvan are still attached to my body. I did something right. Whatever loss I feel now is nothing compared to what would happen had I stayed with Minnie, had we lived a full lifetime together. I saved myself from heartbreak, possibly from death itself.

  So why can’t I shake this pain-filled lethargy?

  Sun streams in my window the next morning, but I don’t want to see it. I roll onto my stomach and bury my head in my pillow. My stomach rumbles, but I ignore it. I’ve suffered worse hunger pangs. I’d rather be lost in my fog than bother to satisfy my body’s needs. Perhaps later I will stir myself.

  There is a knock at the door. I don’t move. If I’m lucky, the knocker will go away.

  I’m not lucky. There is a scuffing sound of the door sweep across the floor, then a click as the door closes.

  “Merry?” Jen calls out. “Are you home?”

  I don’t bother to reply. She’ll find me soon enough. Footsteps pad along the carpet until her voice speaks from the door of my bedroom.

  “Merry. What are you doing still in
bed? Don’t you have class this morning?”

  I grunt but don’t offer anything more coherent.

  “You weren’t returning my texts or calls. I was worried about you after the other night. Are you okay?” She kneels beside the bed to look at my face. Hers shows a mixture of exasperation, concern, and a hint of something else. Wariness, perhaps?

  “I don’t want to see anybody,” I mumble. “I want to stay in bed.”

  Jen frowns at me.

  “Have you been here since dinner the other night?”

  I shrug in reply. Jen releases a little laugh of incredulity then shakes her head.

  “What is it, Merry? You can tell me. What on Earth would possess you to stop your life like this?”

  “I broke it off with Minnie,” I say, and Jen’s face falls. “I was falling in love. I couldn’t handle it.” I close my eyes to hint to Jen to leave me alone. She is silent for only a moment.

  “Now you’re moping in bed in response?”

  “Works for me.”

  “How many centuries old are you, and you act like an emo teenager?” The exasperation is back, along with a thread of fondness. That’s much better than the wary tone from earlier.

  “Sometimes the youth have it right.”

  “Not this time.” Jen stands and turns on a no-nonsense voice. “You’re getting up, showering, eating a solid breakfast, and going to work. Got it? Wallowing won’t help one bit. Come on, it’s time.”

  Before I can growl my displeasure, Jen yanks the covers off the bed. She shrieks.

  “Merry! Put some pants on!” There’s a scuffling on the floor, then my jeans land across my naked bottom. “Honestly. A little warning next time,” she mutters as she marches from the room.

  “It’s just a bit of skin,” I say to her retreating back. “I picked up the habit early on―all Saxons slept naked―and I never quit.”

  “It’s the twenty-first century, Merry,” she yells from the kitchen over the sound of running water. “Honestly. Check a calendar.”