The Auction a Romance by Anna Erishkigal Page 29

  I led Pippa into the house which, in a few more days, would no longer be my home.

  Chapter 31

  A small, white shadow moved past my bedroom window. I threw back my covers and sat up. Was I awake? Or was this just another sleepwalk? I felt around with my bare feet until I found my slippers. Yes, slippers. When slippers were involved, that meant my troubles had intruded into my sleep. I stepped towards the window to see what sound had awoken me. In the pre-dawn greyness, I could see the fireflies coalesce down by the river around a larger, brighter light, and then spiral upwards until the strange will-o-wisps disappeared.

  "I'm not doing this again," I told the nameless, faceless phantasms. "Last time I sleepwalked, I woke up covered in mud."

  I crawled back beneath my hideous granny square afghan and tried to go back to sleep, but the soft click of the front door caused me to bolt straight upright. Had Adam come home early? Or maybe it was an intruder!

  My heart sped up and grew deafening in my ears. I grabbed the nearest makeshift weapon, the crochet hook I'd been using to finish Adam's Christmas present since I didn't keep a baseball bat beside my bed, and inched towards the hallway, the small, aluminum hook held out in front of me like a switchblade.

  "Thunderlane?" I whispered as I carefully opened my bedroom door. "Is that you, puppy?"

  A short, dark, furry shadow, followed by the sound of panting, brushed up against my leg.

  "Bloody hell!"

  Pippa let out a blood curdling scream.

  I flipped on the light switched. Pippa stood in the hallway, along with the dog, cringing in terror as if she thought -I- was the intruder. Her high-pitched screeching threatened to burst my ear drums.

  "It's okay, honey! It's okay!" I hugged her and pulled her into my chest. "Pippa. It's okay. It's only me."

  She clung to me until she stopped shaking, but when I tried to speak to her, at was as though she couldn't hear me. Although her eyes were open, her response was unusually sluggish.

  "Come to bed, honey. I think you were sleepwalking."

  It seemed I wasn't the only person who sleepwalked when overburdened with worry…

  I glanced at Thunderlane, whose fur bore the drops of dew. Usually when Adam got up early, he let the dog out to do his business. The dog must have whined until Pippa got up, half asleep, to let him out.

  I tucked her into my bed, and then, with my heart still trembling from Pippa's screaming, searched through the house with my crochet hook and the dog to make certain the doors were all locked. There was no sign of anything amiss. I crawled back into bed: me, Pippa and the dog.

  I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her close.

  "Rosie?" Pippa murmured sleepily.

  "Yes, nipper?"

  "The fairy queen said everything will be okay."

  I hugged her, this precious little girl I'd been sent to safeguard.

  "Go back to sleep, sweetheart. It was just a pleasant dream."

  I pulled up the covers and went back to sleep.

  *

  A small area between the first two support poles of the barn had been roughly boarded in and turned into a workshop. In that workshop sat the wooden doll house Adam was building, most of it from a kit, but some of the things were custom creations. His How To Build A Dollhouse book had given me the idea, to use the curves and triangles of the woodshop to teach Pippa the final subject which stood between her and entrance to the fifth grade. Geometry. I had three more days until Adam took Pippa away, and I was determined to teach her every single thing I could.

  Pippa bent over a piece of scrap wood clamped into a vice, painstakingly running a coping saw back and forth as she attempted to hand-cut around the curved pencil line. Small bits of sawdust sparkled in her white-blonde hair like tiny golden stars and her small, porcelain features were fixed in an expression of intense concentration. The slender saw-blade went askew.

  "Darn! It just went crooked!"

  "Its fine, sweetheart," I said. "Once we cover it with fabric, you won't even see the mistakes."

  "But why do we have to make a doll-bed when Daddy can just order one from the catalog?"

  I shot her a raised eyebrow.

  "You're entitled to do that," I said. "But you and your father made a deal. Anything like this, you have to pay for it yourself out of your horse savings."

  Pippa's mouth puckered into a frustrated moue.

  "I don't care. Mommy said she's buying me a horse for Christmas."

  "Have you talked to your father about that yet?"

  Pippa avoided my gaze.

  "No. But Mommy said she and Daddy are moving back in together for good."

  She glanced out of the corner of her eye through white-blonde eyelashes to gauge my reaction, an appraising look which was far too calculating for a ten-year-old. She did not, however, appear happy with that revelation. In fact, it seemed like she was pumping me for information, and not the other way around.

  I bit my tongue before I did something stupid, like break down into tears in front of a ten-year-old, and deflected the conversation onto safer ground.

  "You got room for a horse in Brisbane?"

  Pippa frowned. "No. Our yard is really tiny."

  "What about riding schools. Do any of your friends from school ride during the week?"

  Pippa's face dropped.

  "I don't have any friends. Only Emily…"

  Her words trailed off as it dawned in her that Emily would be left behind.

  "So where would you keep this horse your mother is about to buy you?"

  Pippa looked thoughtful.

  "With grandpa, I guess."

  "Does your grandfather's house have a barn?"

  "He has a carriage house," Pippa said. "For all his classic cars." Her face fell. "But he doesn't have any land. Except for the beach. He owns the beach, but there's not a lot of grass."

  "Okay," I said. "So say you and your father move back in with your mother, and your grandpa buys you this horse and puts it in his carriage house. How often do you visit your grandpa?"

  Pippa's mouth tightened into the pensive expression of a kid who was beginning to think for herself.

  "Not very often. Grandpa's really busy." Her face suddenly brightened. "What if Mommy and Daddy buy a new house? One that has room for a horse?"

  "How long do you think your mother will let you keep a horse once she discovers how much work it is to muck out the stalls?"

  Pippa grew silent.

  "Mommy thinks Thunderlane is dirty. She got really angry when he got mud all over her pantsuit."

  "He is dirty," I said. "A great big, dirty, smelly, stinky ball of dog hair." I gave her a mock-serious look. "Did I leave anything out?"

  Pippa giggled. We both knew it was the truth.

  "Have you ever brought Thunderlane when you visit her?"

  "No," Pippa said. "Mommy hates animals. She says she's allergic to them. Especially cats."

  Note to self … visit the local RSPCA and adopt a half-dozen cats … encourage them to sleep on Pippa's overnight bag so when her mother unpacks it, the cat dander will make her face swell.

  Five-point bonus: Adopt cats with fleas…

  "What's so funny?" Pippa asked.

  My smile faded. "Nothing."

  I picked up a piece of straw that had been left behind when Adam had cleaned out the barn and absent-mindedly wrapped it around my finger. Pippa finished cutting out her headboard, which had been drawn to scale by measuring her bed and then sized down using a compass and square to 1:12th scale. It no longer mattered what I did to bolster her self-esteem. Eva had won. How long would it be before she got rid of the kid completely by shipping her off to a boarding school?

  The crunch of gravel coming up the driveway made Thunderlane rise to his feet and go bounding out the barn door, barking ecstatically.

  "Daddy's home!" Pippa dropped her coping saw on the counter and raced out of the barn.

  I followed more slowly into the light cast off by the spotli
ght above the hay-door. Adam backed his silver Mercedes up next to the ancient ute and turned off his headlights. Pippa was already at the car door before he could even step out.

  "Daddy! Daddy!" She leaped up into her father's arms.

  Adam hugged her, and from the way his hug lingered, I could tell it had been a very bad day in court. Had his reunification with Eva gone awry? Or had he been unable to wring concessions from her father? I stepped forward; the golden ring of straw still wrapped around my second finger, and twisted it nervously as I waited for him to see me. Our eyes met.

  "Pippa insisted we wait to eat supper," I said. "If you're still hungry, I'll go and lay it out?"

  Adam nodded.

  I turned and went into the house, past the garish orange 1970's furniture which had begun to feel like my own. In silence I arranged the cucumbers and dill Pippa sliced up earlier over the white bread and goat cheese, and then cut off the crusts. I set the plates out neatly on the grey-and-red Formica table which four generations of Bristows had kept because it was so sturdy and practical.

  Pippa chattered away as she followed her father while he dropped his bags into his bedroom, and then back out again to join us in the kitchen. He sank down into his chair, his dress shirt crumpled, looking far older than at any time since I'd known him.

  I set his cucumber sandwich and a cup of milk on the table in front of him. His blue-green eyes met mine. Tiny lines of gratitude crinkled around his eyes.

  "Thank you, Rosie."

  Pippa plopped down in the chair opposite him, chattering away about her morning spent volunteering at the library with Sarah Colbert, her ongoing doll bed project, and a new baby goat born on Linda Hastings's farm. I could see Adam gradually perk up, as though Pippa's chatter contained within it the fountain of youth. I realized that he needed her as much as she needed him.

  I ate in silence, reluctant to intrude into their father-daughter bonding time. I was the hired help. I was here to babysit a little girl and help her get caught up with her studies. I finished my sandwich even though I wasn't hungry. I got up to clear away the plates.

  Adam's hand shot out to grab mine.

  "Rosie … please stay."

  His expression was tired, weary and wary. There was an awkwardness between us that had nothing to do with Eva's games.

  I sat back down and resumed watching Pippa dominate her father. It was good. It was the way things were supposed to be. A small voice in my heart whispered it was too bad there was no place in their life for me.

  Adam got up and herded Pippa into bed. I cleared away the dishes. I didn't even realize I was crying until the soap bubbles began to burst where I leaned over the sink, up to my elbows in warm, soapy water. I wanted to go home, but I didn't know where home was anymore.

  I didn't realize Adam stood behind me until a large hand touched my shoulder.

  "Rosie?"

  I pretended to push my hair out of my eyes before I turned to face him, reaching for the dish towel to ostensibly dry my hands. The move covered me wiping my eyes before he could see that I'd been crying.

  "Adam."

  We stood in an awkward stalemate.

  "Would you like a beer?" His mouth twitched. It reminded me of the way Thunderlane gave his tail a little wag when he sensed I was angry at him, but he wasn't sure what he'd done wrong.

  "Yes. Please."

  Adam fished some White Rabbit out of the fridge and twisted off both caps before handing me one of the bottles. It was a pale ale tonight, not the usual dark lager. He sat down at the kitchen table and gestured for me to sit. I fingered a spot beneath my rear end where the duct tape had begun to lift and left the vinyl sticky.

  Adam took a long sip and placed his beer down upon the table. I took a tiny sip and did the same. We stared at each other, neither wishing to be the first one to speak. He broke first.

  "Did I say something to offend you?"

  I looked at my hands. "No."

  A long silence hung between us like noxious swamp gas.

  Adam reached out and took both of my hands in his.

  "Rosie, I need you," Adam said softly. "I can't hold it together without you."

  I don't know why, but a sob welled up from my chest. I looked away and tried to hide it, but it broke free, a great, big blubbering wail. He was up and around the table before I could rise to my feet and run away.

  "I'm sorry, Rosie," Adam said. "Whatever I did to hurt you, I'm so sorry."

  I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my face into his abdomen the way that Pippa did whenever some hurt reduced her world to tears. It had no rhyme or reason. I don't even know why I was crying. But I did cry. I cried all over Adam Bristow.

  At last my sobs subsided into hiccoughs. Adam tugged me to my feet and led me to the living room couch. He sat next to me, just two people on a couch. Two very close people whose bodies tingled like powerful electromagnets, pulling them together like yin and yang. He reached into his left shirt pocket and fished out something black and stringy. His knee touched mine as he turned to give it to me, his expression so vulnerable it reminded me of the day Gregory had popped the question. The air around us sat heavy with expectation.

  "I saw this and it made me think of you," Adam said softly. "It's nothing special. Just something one of the aboriginal women made out in the basin. Dream-bracelets, they call them. They make them for extra money. When I saw it, I just knew it'd been made for you."

  All over Australia the tourist traps sold so-called native aboriginal jewelry, mostly necklaces strung together using cheap replica beads from China. Every once in a while a bona fide craftsman would win awards for jewelry that would be at home in any boutique in Europe but not for the fact the silver contained aboriginal squiggles. The bracelet Adam held now was neither of those things. It was made of thick, black macramé leather thongs interwoven with dried, colorful seed-beads, a jagged shark's tooth that was vaguely shaped like a crown, and two polished discs made of bone. I stared at the symbols burned into each of the disks. Aboriginal art was always difficult to interpret, but on one disc was clearly carved a horse, while on the other a slender stick figure with long arms and legs appeared to dance.

  I traced the stick-figure. "It's a Mimi."

  "And a unicorn." Adam's mouth curved up into a bashful smile. "Actually, I think it's supposed to be the horse's second ear. But my first impression was unicorn, so who's to say that it's not?"

  He tied the dream bracelet onto my wrist, for it needed to be tied, not clasped. My skin tingled wherever his fingers touched my sensitive flesh. He tied three pairs of straps into knots and pulled them tight so they would not come undone, and then he wove the ends back into the braiding so that they became invisible, just another part of the weave. They were the kind of knots that would be exceptionally difficult to untie.

  He put his arm around me, and then he kissed my forehead.

  "Let's not fight anymore," he said. "Okay?"

  "Okay," I whispered.

  He buried his nose into my hair. Every place his body touched mine tingled. Whatever Adam was gathering up the strength to say, I could sense his decision was huge.

  "I met with Eva last night."

  I stiffened.

  "I told her she could take Pippa for Christmas," he said softly. "It's a big deal, and Pippa looks forward to it all year long. But I told Eva I'm not going with her. She can send Frederick to fetch her on Wednesday."

  He lifted my chin so I had to meet his gaze. He ran his thumb along my cheek until it came to rest upon the corner of my lip, his blue-green eyes swirling with emotion as he refused to let me look away.

  "I told her … I'm proceeding with the divorce."

  I bit my lip so he wouldn't hear the sob. My face twisted up into a grateful grimace as my eyes grew wet and all of a sudden I could no longer see. He pulled my face into his chest and rested his chin upon my head until my shoulders stopped shuddering, betraying my relief.

  "I don't know what's going to happen, Ros
ie," Adam said. "Eva is angrier with me than ever before, and she'll do everything in her power to stop me from breaking free. But you made me realize…"

  His voice trailed off. I thought he might kiss me, but instead he kissed the top of my head. We sat there like that for a very long time, my face buried into the pleasant, musky scent of his neckline, and then he got up, tugged the crease out of his slacks, and announced it was time to go to bed.

  "G'night, Miss Rosamond," Adam said. "I'm exhausted. Everything else, we'll take it as it comes."

  He left me sitting on the couch, examining the bracelet he knew darned well I would never take off.

  Chapter 32

  Harvey carried me out across the station, but there was no white pony tonight, nor was there any sense of urgency. I traveled the fence lines, watching contented cattle chew their cud, feeling a sense of belonging that I had not felt since I'd been a little girl. I woke up to discover Adam and Pippa were gone, but I found the note beside an upended bowl with two gooseberry muffins underneath.

  .

  Dear Rosie:

  Daddy is taking me to work today. Here. We made muffins for you. I only burned them a little.

  Love,

  Pippa

  .

  All of the small 'i's had flowers instead of dots, and the 'o's had all been turned into smiley faces. Beneath it, Adam had scrawled in a strong, masculine hand:

  .

  Geometry? I'm impressed. We should be back in time for an early supper. In the meantime, take a little time today for yourself. You deserve it.

  -A

  .

  "If this is the brush-off," I said to Thunderlane, "it's the nicest one I've ever gotten."

  Thunderlane's furry black tail thumped against the table leg. I warmed up the cup of Turkish coffee Adam had left in the microwave, and then sat down to eat the muffins.

  I stared down at my bracelet and caressed the crown-shaped shark's tooth. My Gitano grandmother once told me my destiny was to marry a man who carried a crown. While the bracelet was not the precious metal a woman like Eva Jackson would demand adorn her perfect flesh, Adam was right. The bracelet suited me. My horse-friend Sienna claimed that when a man liked you, he would mark his territory by giving you jewelry. If that was the case, consider me marked, for that strange insecurity had all but disappeared.