Mirror of My Soul

tea trade, traveling through India, Asia.
And then as you know, she came back here to open Tea Leaves.”
“It’s strange, that she would come back here.”
And thank God she did. Or I’d never have met her.
“It’s not strange at all.” She regarded him. “This is where David was. Is. Will always be, in her mind. So now you know.
“Marguerite chose to manage her own emotions. I give her credit for how well she has done. But from what I’ve observed and learned, she has dealt with that unresolved anger by a combination of the obsessive-compulsive, controlling behavior we discussed and outright suppression, an even more destructive method. And you already know 50
Mirror of My Soul
that she has a tendency toward violence when pressed.” Her gaze flickered over his damaged face.
Her voice spoke dark truths, truths he didn’t want to hear, but she pressed on, ruthless. “When I look at you, I can tell you want to give Marguerite happiness. But I want you to consider carefully that she may have found peace and sacrificed happiness for it. As I said, that may be the best she can do.”
Tyler closed his eyes, put his hand on the bridge of his nose to relieve the tension pounding there and winced when he hit the tawser strike. “Mrs. Gupta—”
There was a quiet clink of china as she pushed cup and saucer farther back on the table. His eyes opened, surprised as she reached over and captured both of his hands in hers, linking them in an intimate and almost familial pose. Her dark eyes searched his.
“Those are my best theories. Counseling experience, textbook cases, research articles.
But here’s one more. And this is the most important thing I want to say to you.
“I believe that faith and love can heal things science says are impossible. Marguerite Perruquet has haunted me for all these years. She has always been in my prayers as I hoped for her happiness. So hear my words as a counselor and be guided by them. But also be guided by your love for her. For if we can’t bring a child out of darkness and save her soul with love, then I’m afraid there’s little hope for the world.”
51
Joey W. Hill
Chapter Five
Marguerite threw herself into her routine. If she too often found herself sitting at her desk staring into space, entranced by the way it felt to let her fingers drift over the upper slope of her breast, that was fine. Or tracing her lips, imagining Tyler kissing her there. Passionately, that hard male demand. Coaxing, with seductive persuasion.
Casually, with the brief intimacy of committed couples that said “we belong to each other”. I’m yours.
She hesitated, picked up a pen and drew the letters of his name carefully on her steno pad. T.Y.L.E.R. W.I.N.T.E.R.M.A.N. Winterman and the Ice Queen. An absurd coincidence which meant nothing really, but to a fanciful mind it could. One that still had girlish hopes.
She crushed the paper in her hand, holding it tightly. Brought it to her forehead, closed her eyes and sat that way for some time until she gradually became aware of a hand on her shoulder.
“I don’t think—” Gen’s voice.
“It’s all right. I appreciate you showing me to her office.”
Marguerite looked up into the face of Komal Gupta. She looked like one of her Mrs.
Allens, her face bearing the lines of wisdom and experience. The tidy hair, the smock shirt and slacks sitting comfortably on her pear-shaped body, a neckline of jade stones around her neck.
“I don’t know what to do,” Marguerite said. She pressed her face into that soft, motherly midriff under the pendulous breasts and began to shake.
Soft smells, talcum powder. Like her mother, only without the odor of alcohol that would come through her pores. This was simple. Soap, something curry-smelling.
She breathed deep, shuddered. So many new things had happened to her in the
past week. This was the most alien of all. Something inside her was simply crumbling away and she didn’t know in which direction to scramble before the whole ground slid away, tumbling her into quicksand.
Komal’s arms went around her shoulders, her head lying down on top of hers. So much like Tyler, as if she had the right. People who loved you, truly loved you, they could touch you. It was okay. It was good. It had been a long time since she’d remembered that.
“Oh, my sweet little girl,” Komal murmured. “I have missed you so very much.”
The first sob burst out of her like a hard cough, rough, jarring her lungs, then came another and another. Her fingers sank into the woman’s hips as Marguerite held her face tight to her, hiding the hideous folding of all her facial features drawn so taut her 52
Mirror of My Soul
head began to pound. But then there was salt on her lips, wetness sliding through those folds, making her lashes soft and wet on her cheeks. She was shuddering, afraid a bone was going to break or a muscle tear, but the seventy-year-old woman was holding her in close, not letting anything break.
“Oh, baby girl,” she whispered, over and over, a light rocking that went on forever, the bliss of a mother’s womb in a hug. Marguerite remembered how often she’d wished she and David would have always stayed there, that nebulous memory that rare
children had, a subconscious prenatal memory of love. Happiness. The touch of her father’s hand on her mother’s stomach as she’d seen in pictures. So happy. Loving. Not possessed by evil, though she could see in those pictures now the dormant potential, waiting for the events that would release the darkness in him to its true purpose. Her mind went away from him, turned to Tyler’s amber eyes. Tyler, who had faced crisis and trauma, had weathered it and offered love and protection instead of hate and punishment.
She didn’t know how long she sat there in Komal’s comforting