Heavenstone 02 - Secret Whispers

the past, mostly happy scenes, memories of Mother and me taking a walk or cleaning house together. It was easy to picture her smiling; she had done it so often.
    Cassie had used to say Mother behaved more like an innocent, unsophisticated young girl. She’d had so much faith in people and had a stubborn insistence on believing things would turn out all right.
    “Our mother lives in a Santa Claus world,” Cassie would say. “She thinks ice on the road is a layer of diamonds, most crime is accidental, and death is a commercial interruption. Happiness will always survive and return.”
    “I like that, Cassie. I want to be the same way and believe in the same things.”
    “You would. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up just like her, a prisoner of delusion.”
    “A happy prisoner, though.”
    “Christmas trees. Talking to you is like talking to the wall.”
    “You said these walls have ears,” I would remind her.
    “Ancestral ears. Heaven-stone is history. Oh, forget it,” she would say. “You’re giving me a headache.”
    Like two conspirators, Mother and I would smile after Cassie had said something unpleasant.
    “She’s too smart to be sour forever,” Mother would tell me. In time, I had to admit to myself that was a delusion.
    The pictures on the ceiling began to diminish as I grew more tired. I didn’t want to fall asleep without seeing or hearing Cassie, but I couldn’t wait much longer. Maybe she’ll be in my dreams, I thought, and finally closed my eyes.
    She wasn’t. In fact, I slept more like someone under anesthesia. One moment, it was dark, and the next, it was light. Ethan was already up and gone. I sprang out of bed, rushed to get on some clothes, and hurried down to Daddy’s bedroom. I was shocked to see Mia De Stagen remaking Daddy’s empty bed.
    “Where’s my father?” I asked. She paused, her face full of sorrow.
    “He went to the hospital with your husband.” She reached into her apron to pluck out a tissue to dab her eyes. “Mrs. Heaven-stone is very bad. He went to say good-bye, I’m afraid.”
    “Where’s the nurse?”
    “She went with them to look after your father.”
    “Why didn’t anyone wake me?”
    She had no answer, of course. I went down to get some coffee and then went to the phone and called Ethan on his cell phone. He didn’t answer, so I left a message that I was surprised he hadn’t woken me and that after breakfast, I intended to go to the salon. I told him to call me on my cell phone. Then I called the salon and made an appointment.
    Gerad waited in the kitchen for orders. I was surprised that I had a big appetite and asked him to prepare one of his famous omelettes. Like most people awash in sorrow, he was grateful for something to do. Catherine De Stagen was the same way and hovered about me at the dining-room table, practically lunging to get me the pepper when I started to reach for it. She wore the same mask of sorrow Mia wore. It was hard for me to believe they were so emotionally tied to Lucille, but maybe they were. Maybe she was the sort of employer they admired, or maybe they wondered now if they would be retained much longer.
    Ethan had still not called me before I left for the salon. I kept expecting him to as I sat in the chair and my stylist began to repair my chop job. She didn’t pursue how my hair had come to be so badly mangled once I told her I had gone overboard trying to do it myself. She didn’t ask why. I thought she did a remarkably good job of rescuing it. I didn’t look like Cassie or myself, but it was an interesting new look for me. Ethan would behappy, I thought. Just toward the end, my phone finally rang.
    “It’s over,” he began. “There was nothing the doctor your uncle brought in could do that would have made any sort of difference. Your father made the decision to cut off the life support.”
    “How is he?”
    “Devastated. He’s with your uncle and the minister. Where are you?”
    “Finishing up in the salon. You’ll love what she’s done.”
    “Good. I’ve got to go help with the funeral planning. We want to take as much of this off your father’s shoulders as we can.”
    “Okay,” I said. “Should I come there or go home?”
    “Go home. I’m sure we’ll be headed that way soon. Are you all right, Semantha?” I could feel the tension in his voice. He was surely holding his breath.
    “I’m fine, Ethan. Everything’s okay. Don’t worry about me now.”
    “That’s good, Semantha. I