The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

Chapter Thirty

On a bright, breezy Saturday morning, Cleo launched The Siren .

She took the cat, and, at her insistence, Sonya took the dog.

As Cleo drove to the village, Sonya cast another dubious glance in the back, where Pye curled on the seat and Yoda planted his stubby front paws against the partially open window to catch the air.

“I’m really not sure, especially this first time, it’s the best idea to take them on the boat.”

“We all go. It’s going to be a moment.”

“Yeah, but what kind of moment? Joy and delight, or chaos and capsizing?”

“The first. I feel it in my bones. You had a tough week, Son. It’s time for some silly fun.”

She couldn’t deny the tough week, but she’d handled it. And she’d handled the uneasy nights, waking at three to the sound of the clock, the music, the weeping, and waiting for the pull of the mirror to take her… somewhere.

Worse, waiting for Dobbs to strike out yet again.

“Friend of mine, you’re stressed. Maxed-out stressed. Today, we break that. I’m excited.” Cleo gave her a light punch on the shoulder. “Be excited! I haven’t seen a peep of my boat except on paper. And today? We’re going to sail the bay! All four of us.”

She’d sailed with Cleo before, Sonya reminded herself. And considered herself a more than adequate first mate. But she’d never sailed with a cat or a dog, much less both at once.

Rather than breaking her stress, the idea just piled more on.

“Trust me,” Cleo insisted as she pulled in beside Owen’s workshop and parked next to the pair of trucks already there.

“Famous words.”

But Sonya got out and, though Yoda sent her a sad look when he saw it, hooked the leash to his collar. Cleo gathered up the cat and an enormous bag.

“You know, the man’s workshop’s bigger than his house. I wonder what that says about him.”

“That he loves his work?” Sonya suggested.

“Could be that. Could be he isn’t as invested in his home, yet, as he is in his work.”

“Your workspace in your apartment in Boston took up more room than your living space.”

Cleo smiled, tossed her hair. “It did, didn’t it?” She gave Sonya a one-armed hug. “I predict you’re going to thank me after we sail.”

“I may. I sure as hell plan to thank the gods of sailors, dogs, cats, and loyal best friends upon our safe return.”

“You can do both, but Owen built it for two adults, and we’re sticking to the bay. We all have PFDs, but we won’t need them.”

Hope not, Sonya thought as they walked around the workshop to the dock where Trey stood with Owen and two more dogs.

The Siren sat trim and glossy in the water, the mermaid at its bow with her head lifted, her hair flowing. Her companions swam port and starboard.

The boat gleamed in the sun, its red sail rolled and ready to hoist. Cleo let out a squeal and shoved Pye into Sonya’s hands, dropped the bag.

She ran forward, and nearly toppled Owen off the dock when she leaped up, hooked her legs around his waist, and locked her mouth to his.

“I helped,” Trey said. Then he sent Pye and Yoda as dubious a look as Sonya’s thoughts. “Really?”

“Apparently. Wow. It really is beautiful. Owen, the carving.”

“Busy here.” He went in for another kiss, but Cleo jumped down, pushed him back. And moved closer to the boat.

“Oh, she’s just gorgeous. She’s… she’s so me!” Kneeling, she reached down to run her fingers over the carved figures.

“It’s beautiful work, Owen. Seriously beautiful work.”

“She turned out pretty good. And she’s stable, built for up to three hundred and fifty pounds, so she’ll hold both of you, no problem. Plus, she’s got the hiking strap you wanted.”

Now he looked at Pye and Yoda. “Looks like you were serious about them. That cat’s wearing a hot pink PFD.”

“Naturally. It matches mine. I got Yoda the more masculine but still stylish purple.”

She went back for the bag she’d dropped, then handed Sonya her PFD—also purple—before putting on her own. She took out two water bottles, handed them to Owen.

“Toss those to us, will you?”

“Maybe we should go over a few things,” Trey began.

“I’ve grilled her already,” Owen said. “She knows what she’s doing.”

To prove it, Cleo put the cat under her arm, stepped off the dock onto The Siren ’s deck.

She got her balance, set the cat down.

Pye walked toward the bow, sat. Like a masthead.

“Oh God, here we go.” Sonya unleashed Yoda.

“Pray for us.”

She kissed Trey for luck.

Obliging, Yoda jumped onto the boat. Hoping for the best, Sonya followed.

Trey watched them paddle away from the dock. “That looks promising. But hey, maybe we empty our pockets, ditch shoes. In case.”

“They’re fine.”

And they watched Cleo move to the windward side, stepping over the cockpit where Yoda planted himself. She took the tiller with one hand.

And hoisted sail.

Her shout of triumph echoed back as The Siren glided over the waters of Poole’s Bay. Sonya’s laugh flowed back with it.

“She’s sailing with a cat.” Owen pushed up his sunglasses. “And a dog. The cat’s wearing a pink PFD, and the woman’s handling that boat like she was born at the tiller. I’m done. That’s it. She’s it. Jesus, she’s just it.”

Trey clapped a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “You’re just figuring that out?”

“I should’ve known she was trouble. Fuck it, I did know she was trouble. Now I’m sunk.”

Trey looked out where Sonya lifted her arms to the sky.

“That makes two of us.”

In the boat, Cleo tacked, and The Siren flew.

“You were right. So right! I forgot what it was like to just go ! Yoda’s loving it. Look at him.”

Pointy little ears pinned back by the wind, he had his head lifted to it. And wild delight gleaming in his eyes.

“And Pye!”

Sure-footed, the cat had walked back to sit beside Cleo. And looked like a queen pleased with the performance of her barge.

“We needed this. We deserve this. Man oh man, Son, this boat handles like a dream. That man’s amazing.”

“He sure gets you. Everything about this boat says Cleopatra Fabares. Oh, what a day. But you were wrong about one thing. It’s not silly fun. It’s just fun.”

“And how’s that stress?”

“What stress?” With another laugh, Sonya waved to a boat as one of its passengers took pictures of them.

She supposed they made one. Two women, a cat, and a dog in a mermaid of a boat.

They sailed for an hour before Cleo guided The Siren back to the dock. As Sonya secured the lines and removed Yoda’s PFD, Trey wandered out of the open double garage doors of the shop. Yoda leaped out, shook the spray from his brindled fur, then pranced into the shop.

Trey took the cat, then offered Cleo a hand. “How’d she handle?”

“She’s perfect. I’ve never sailed anything like her. Small but mighty.” She took the cat, nuzzled it. “We love her. Owen in there?”

“Yeah. Cold drinks, too.”

“Right now I want both.”

When she walked away, Trey ran a hand over Sonya’s windblown hair. “It looks good on you.”

“What does?”

“Everything, but right now? Happy and relaxed.”

“I’m both. And I don’t know half of what Cleo does about boats and sailing, but from my perspective, she’s right. That one’s perfect.”

She took his hand as they walked toward the shop.

“We had other boats come abreast, some taking pictures of us.”

“That’s no surprise.”

“And a couple called out asking where we got the boat. If Owen ever wants to take on more solo custom work, I could build him a hell of a website.”

They stepped inside the cavernous space, and Sonya goggled.

“It’s even bigger than it looks from outside.”

She’d never seen so many tools. Hand tools hanging on a wall, bigger ones sitting on shelves, others that looked powerful, and more than a little scary to her eye, standing on their own. Massive standing chests with drawers she supposed held more. Workbenches, stacks and more stacks of lumber, another shelf holding what she thought were antique tools—including the sander he’d taken from the manor.

More holding cans of resin, paint, sealer.

And tucked back, a battered old couch and what looked like someone’s grandfather’s recliner from the sixties, a dog bed, an ancient refrigerator.

And the desk.

“Is that—that’s the rolltop you found in storage.”

Marveling, she walked to it, ran a finger over its now-silky surface. “How did you manage to let it look old, wonderfully, and shiny new?”

“Elbow grease mostly. I got Cokes, I got beer.”

“A Coke, thanks.”

Cleo, already sipping one, lifted it to the wall above the desk. “You’re putting her there, aren’t you? The Mermaid ?”

“That’s the plan.”

Nodding slowly, she sipped again. “It’s a good plan. It’s the right place for her. But right now, I need you to sit at the desk. I need it open, and Jones sitting beside you.”

“Because?”

She reached in her enormous bag, pulled out a sketch pad.

“You have a sketch pad?”

“I always have a sketch pad. Go sit. It’s an interesting setup. Then I’ll trade you for a sail, you and Jones, in The Siren .”

“I don’t see why—”

“You will. You see it, don’t you, Sonya?”

“I have to say yes. And if Trey will give me a ride home, I’ll take Yoda—since I see Pye sitting on top of the desk.”

Cleo smiled. “See why we’ve been best friends forever? Then I want one with you using one of these tools. Maybe just a sander or a chisel. Maybe that band saw.”

“You know what a band saw is?”

Cleo gave him a roll of her eyes. “Of course I know what a band saw is.”

Owen looked, a little helplessly, at Trey. “Damn it.”

“We’ll get out of your way. Come on, Mooks.”

“I’ve got a couple ideas for you,” Cleo told Trey.

“Definitely getting out of your way.” He grabbed Sonya’s hand, pulled her out of the shop.

“When she’s ready for you, you won’t escape.”

“I can run pretty fast.”

“How about a stroll on High Street instead? I’ll buy you an ice cream cone.”

“I’ll take that deal.”

An easy day, Sonya thought, one with no work and all fun. She’d needed it, and considered her balance fully restored as they walked the dogs along High Street.

They stopped often to have a word with friends and neighbors. And that reminded her what she’d made herself a part of.

It pleased her to see some of Anna’s pottery in the window display at Bay Arts. As they paused there, Kevin stepped out.

He had a mile-wide grin, gold wire-framed glasses, and sported a bow tie.

“Caught a glimpse of you. First, again, Sonya, amazing party. John Dee and I had an absolute blast.”

“We did, too.”

“Always good to see you, Trey. I just saw your grandmother yesterday.”

“She gets around. How’s your mom?”

“Doing good. Just a sprain. Pickleball injury,” he said to Sonya before he bent down to scrub at both dogs. “Hello, puppies. Hello there. I wanted to tell you I just this morning sold the last painting Cleo brought in. A couple from Cambridge taking a long weekend. Staying at the hotel.”

“She’ll be delighted.”

“Please tell her, if I don’t talk to her first, I’d be delighted if she has anything else ready. And I want to tell you, I’m ready to go with your proposal for the website, the signage, the works.”

“Now I’m delighted. I’ll start building the website next week.”

“Great. We’ll talk. I have to get back to it. Enjoy this spectacular day.”

She did, from the sail, to the walk, the feeling of belonging, to margaritas on the deck with the men handling steaks on the grill.

Clover kept things upbeat with the music, Molly had the windows open, and three dogs plus cat played in the yard.

“Every day should be today,” Sonya decided.

“If only.” Then Cleo smiled. “We’d get bored.”

“I hate knowing that’s true.” Sonya paged through Cleo’s sketchbook. “These are terrific. You already know that. You want oils for the one at the desk.”

“Mmm. And I want to play with shadows and light. Man Working Late , that sort of thing. Right now, I’m feeling lazy. Like a movie after dinner.”

“Read my mind.”

While they ate in the sunlight, Sonya smiled over at Owen. “I’ve been looking at chairs for out front, maybe a nice bench, the kind that’ll handle being out in the weather. The thing is, I haven’t found anything that’s not boring and standard. Nothing with the character the manor deserves.”

Eyeing her, he ate a bite of steak. “You want me to build you chairs and maybe a bench?”

“You do have that incredible workshop, and all those tools. I drew up some ideas.”

“Uh-huh.” He glanced at Trey, who shrugged.

“She did it this afternoon. I gotta say, they look good. Interesting.”

“Interesting. And say I find them interesting, what do I get?”

“I thought since Cleo would use them, too, she could offer you sexual favors.”

“I’m already getting those.”

“Yeah? They can be withheld.”

He just turned to Cleo. “But can they? Can they really?”

She laughed and lifted her margarita.

“I also noticed you have a nice collection of old tools. There are more of those downstairs. You could take whatever you wanted.”

“Maybe I’ll take a look at the design.”

When he did, saw the generous seats, the wide arms, the carving on the back that represented the weeper in bloom, he hissed out a breath.

“Okay, interesting. But you’re going to want to angle the seats and backs some.”

“Whatever you think.”

“I’ve got some teak, and that’d work. But black locust, more interesting.”

“Isn’t that an insect?”

“No. Back when, they used it a lot for outdoor work. And you want character, the been-here-forever feel. It can be a bitch to work with.”

“Not for you.” Cleo batted her eyes at him.

“I’m taking those sexual favors, Lafayette. And some tools.” He pointed at Trey. “You helped get me into this, so you help with the build.”

“I’m in. I like them. I’d’ve talked her out of them otherwise.”

“Is that so?” Sonya said.

“It’s what he does. Talks people into things or out of them. Mostly,” Owen added, “they come out of it thinking it was their idea.”

“Let the record show this was Sonya’s idea—issuing the challenge—and yours to accept it. So.” Trey smiled. “How about that movie?”

At three, the clock sounded. On the drift of piano music, Sonya rose. Trey got up quickly.

“I’m awake,” she told him. “I’m awake, but I have to… I need to go.”

“I’m right here with you. But I’m going to get Owen. You don’t have to go through alone.”

“I have to go.”

When she walked into the hall, Trey started to go down ahead, get Owen. But both Owen and Cleo stepped out of the bedroom.

“Somebody woke me up,” Owen told him. “It wasn’t Cleo.”

“I heard it, too. Like before. Someone saying ‘Sonya,’ a hand on my shoulder.”

“I’m awake, but… Do you feel it, too?”

“Not really. Something maybe.” Owen shook his head. “But not really.”

“I have to go. I have to.”

She continued to the end of the hall with that pull growing stronger and stronger. Then she stopped at the top of the stairs, pointed down.

“It’s there. Do you see it? It’s down there.”

“I see it.” His eyes on the mirror, Trey took her hand. “You can say no, Sonya. I’ll help you say no if that’s what you want.”

“No, I want… I need to.”

“I’m with her. You need to stay with Cleo. It’s not reflecting. Movement in it, and I can hear music.”

Trey kept Sonya’s hand. He saw them reflected in the glass as they walked toward the mirror. He heard nothing.

At the base of the stairs, he put Sonya’s hand in Owen’s, and all his trust with it. “Look out for her.”

“I got it.”

Cleo grabbed Owen’s face, kissed him. “Look out for you, too.”

“That’s the plan. Ready?”

“It doesn’t matter. I have to.”

Together, they stepped through.

And stood in the grand foyer with the portrait of Astrid Grandville Poole. The music, the voices, came from outside the open windows.

“‘Louie Louie.’” Owen identified the song, the heavy bass coming through. “So sixties or beyond.”

“I don’t understand—”

Even as Sonya spoke, the front door flew open. The woman rushed in, long auburn hair in tumbling waves to her shoulders. She wore a crown of rosebuds over it, with ribbons trailing behind.

She hiked up the frothy skirts of her white dress as she hurried toward the stairs. In high, sparkling heels, Johanna Poole started up.

“Her feet are killing her,” Sonya murmured. “I can hear her thoughts, like with Arthur Poole.”

Gripping Owen’s hand, she followed the seventh bride.