Page 13 of Memories of the Lost

He dropped to the couch to pull on his shoes but looked up with a smile. “Wish I could. How’s your head?”

“Okay.” She shrugged, embarrassed. “A migraine, that’s all. You were really good to me. Thank you.”

“No worries.” He leaped to his feet and stuck his arms through his coat, patted the pocket, and made sure his phone was in hand. Then he paused. A ray of light struck his irises, and Tillie thought again of an angel. Her chest ached at his departure—it was so sudden and felt all wrong.

“Can I see you again?” he asked.

Relief swept through her. “Yes, please.”

He smiled, deep and wide, and to Tillie’s surprise, he bent in to kiss her. His mouth was as luxuriously plush as she remembered from last night, and tasted of possibility. Again, she felt something bloom around them, as if roses were opening, scenting the air.

“I don’t want to go,” he said, mouth millimeters from hers.

“I don’t want you to.”

“Damn. I have a gig at ten.” He brushed the tip of his nose over hers, raised his head to meet her gaze fully and without hurry. “Pleasure to meet you, Tillie.”

“Same.”

And then he was gone. She listened to his feet running down the stairs and sent a whisper out to the universe.

Please.

CHAPTER SIX

The ballroom was full when Liam arrived through the back door. He could hear the murmurs and chatting as the participants indulged over coffees and teas served from giant dispensers along the back wall. In deference to the nature of his work, their work, the snacks were vegan and healthy—as healthy as a massive hotel could do, anyway, which was piles of grapes and bananas and hearty muffins (carrot or pumpkin or almond) and bowls of nuts and granola bars. Lots of coffee, and teas of every variety.

Krish, who was not only his friend but also his team manager, rushed over, a clipboard in his hand, an earpiece circling his ear. “Liam, where’ve you been? They’re just about to get restless.”

He smoothed the air with his hands, giving Krish his most calming smile. “It’s fine, bro. Sorry. Time got away from me. Give me five minutes.”

Krish gave him a look. They’d known each other a long time, since their school days in Auckland, way before all this started, which meant that Krish knew him a bit too well at times. “A woman, is it?”

“It’s not like that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It never is, but here you are, late enough that I was afraid we’d have to cancel.” His expression was not reassured. “Be careful.”

“I’m good. Really.”

“Go. Get yourself ready.”

Liam clapped him on the arm and headed for the small dressing room. He donned a clean linen shirt and casual trousers, and pulled his hair back from his face, dampening his fingers at the sink to skim back the loose hair. It would fall free by the end of the first session, but as long as he started in a neat place, the participants didn’t mind.

That finished, he sat for a moment and closed his eyes. Flashes played over his memory: Tillie’s eyes, a greenish blue like the sea, fringed in heavy lashes he didn’t think were fake, though he wasn’t the wisest when it came to women’s cosmetic enhancements. In the taxi, reading her palm playfully, he’d felt a frisson of connection, smelling the fragrance of her, something elusive and green.

And then, her dramatic fainting, that river of dark hair spilling everywhere, her legs in green stockings like a creature from the forest. This morning, her simple crossed legs, the calm in her rooms, the riotousness of her paintings, strange and compelling. He hadn’t wanted to leave her yet.

Focus.

He took in a breath and mentally built a wall around any thoughts of Tillie. People had paid hundreds of dollars for the experience they hoped to have today, and he owed them his full attention.

More, he wanted to be present with them, and for himself. To do whatever he needed to do here, today, in this place. He allowed himself to empty, to clear his thoughts, his heart, and as much of his ego as he was able.

In a moment, Krish knocked. “We’re just about to start.”

“I’m ready.” Liam rose and followed his friend’s dark head through a small hallway to the stage. The lights had come down, not all the way, but to a more agreeable coral tone than the usual overhead brights. The participants were in mostly tidy rows, on cushions or mats or on the floor, most of them cross-legged, waiting. Many of them wore prayer shawls or sweaters. He scanned their faces, each one precious, every age and color and culture and sex, and love filled him. He looked at them, one by one, taking his time. The old woman with her thin white hair,embroidered violet blouse, and bare feet. The young man with a shaved head and enormous eyes. The two plump women with long dark hair, both dressed in red, perhaps sisters.

He rested his eyes on each one, seeing as many as he could before he began. Acknowledging them.