Resurrected, Page 2

  Caitlin had never seen this boy, but was suddenly overwhelmed by the strangest feeling that they’d met. He seemed so familiar that it bothered her.

  Scarlet must have noticed the sudden tension in the air, because she turned.

  “Um…guys,” she said. “Like, sorry, I didn’t realize everyone would be here. This is my boyfriend. Blake.”

  “Boyfriend?” Caleb asked warily, surprise rising in his voice.

  Blake, Caitlin thought. How did she know that name? Somehow, she felt she did.

  Blake looked cautiously back and forth between Caitlin and Caleb.

  “Um…hi,” he finally said, shyly.

  “Dad, be nice,” Scarlet cautioned.

  Caleb held out a large, firm hand, and Blake reached out tentatively. Caleb shook his hand hard—just a little bit too hard, Caitlin could see.

  “Any friend of my daughter is welcome in our home,” Caleb said, though Caitlin could see his jaw tighten. She also noticed he chose the word friend, not boyfriend.

  “Hi Scarlet!” Sam yelled out, and came hurrying over and gave her a hug.

  “Oh my god are you gorgeous or what!?” Polly screamed, as she hurried over and wrapped Scarlet in a big hug, picking her up. “Oh my God, look at that hair! And those earrings! And those shoes! Where did you get those? Oh my god, you look stunning! Stunning!” Polly said.

  Scarlet smiled wide as she embraced Polly, who was like a second mom to her.

  “Thanks, Polly. You look great, too.”

  Caitlin gently herded them towards the dinner table, and as they all were getting closer, she hurried around behind Scarlet and placed her palms over her eyes.

  “Don’t look!” Caitlin said, as she walked Scarlet across the dining room. As they neared the table, Caitlin pulled back her hands.

  Scarlet’s eyes opened in surprise, and she broke into a huge smile.

  “Oh my God, you got it for me!” she screamed, and turned and hugged Caitlin tightly.

  Caitlin beamed with satisfaction. It was Scarlet’s favorite cake, a red velvet cheesecake she’d once had in Manhattan and never forgot. The bakery in the city was the only one that made it, and Caitlin had taken a special trip the day before, two hours each way, just to get it for her.

  Scarlet turned to Blake, who was lingering back; she grabbed his hand and pulled him forward, right next to her.

  “Oh my god you don’t understand!” she gushed to him. “This is the world’s best cake. You have to taste it!”

  As she spoke, Caitlin could see the love emanating on her face towards Blake. And it was reciprocal. That made her very happy—and nervous at the same time. She knew how easily Scarlet fell in love, and didn’t want to see her get hurt.

  Scarlet blew out all the candles, and as she did, everyone cheered.

  “Thanks mom,” Scarlet said and hugged Caitlin again, “you really surprised me. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Caitlin said.

  *

  They all had a lovely meal together. Blake joined them, and the six of them sat around the table, eating course after course, laughing, talking about the amazing year in store for Scarlet. Polly brought a bubbly, vivacious energy to the table, and having her and Sam there made the house feel so much bigger to Caitlin, so much warmer. It felt like a real home.

  Having Blake there, Caitlin realized, was a welcome addition, too. The six of them all fit comfortably together, as if they’d all known each other forever. The conversation never stopped, and neither did the laughter.

  They all ate way too much, then sliced the cake, and ate even more. Then came the coffee, and tea, and more desserts—boxes of cookies which Polly and Sam had brought. Ruth sat at their heels, and they threw her scraps all night. Especially Scarlet, who Ruth adored more than anything. The love was reciprocal—most nights Ruth slept in Scarlet’s room, and if anyone came anywhere near it, she growled.

  Polly, so excited, couldn’t wait to give Scarlet her presents, so she, characteristically, gave her the gifts right there, at the table, and begged her to open them on the spot. Caitlin didn’t know who was more excited—Scarlet or Polly. As always, Polly was way too generous. Scarlet opened gift after gift.

  Scarlet, so appreciative, got up and hugged her, and Sam.

  After the conversation died down and they all began to get up from the table, Caitlin finally found her opportunity. She was dying to give Scarlet her gift, a very important gift, which she’d been waiting until her sixteenth birthday to give. As the others began to filter out the room, she went to pull Scarlet aside—but was surprised to see her reach for her coat.

  “Scarlet?” Caitlin asked, surprised. “Are you going out?” Scarlet paused in the doorway, with Blake, and looked back, hesitant, looking a bit guilty.

  “Sorry mom,” she said. “I didn’t realized you expected me to stay. I was going to catch a movie with Blake. For my birthday, you know?”

  Caleb looked over, concerned.

  “Um…if that’s okay?” Scarlet added.

  Caleb looked down at his watch, looking unhappy.

  “Well, it is a school night,” he said.

  But Caitlin reached out and placed a hand on his wrist. She smiled.

  “Of course it’s okay, honey. It’s your birthday. I’m glad you guys are going,” she said, meaning it. Caitlin felt a little sad for herself, because she wanted to hang out with Scarlet, to talk to her more on her birthday—but she was genuinely happy for her that she had Blake.

  Scarlet broke into a smile, looking relieved.

  “But before you go, can I just have a minute?” Caitlin asked. “There’s something I want to give you. It’s your birthday, after all.”

  Scarlet smiled.

  “Sure,” she said. She turned to Blake. “Just wait for me on the porch, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  “I think porch-time is a great idea,” Caleb said, not missing a beat as he walked to Blake and draped an arm over his shoulder. “I think I’ll join you. It will be a perfect opportunity for us to get to know each other.”

  Blake looked nervously back at Scarlet as Caleb led him outside.

  “Dad, be nice,” Scarlet cautioned.

  Caleb turned and smiled as he opened the door, leading Blake to one of the overstuffed wicker chairs on their wide, Victorian porch.

  “Don’t worry honey,” Caitlin said, as the door closed behind him. “I’m sure he will be. And by the way, I really like Blake.”

  Scarlet smiled as the two of them walked through the windy, quirky house to a small sitting room, lined with bookshelves.

  As they entered the room, Scarlet’s eyes opened wide in surprise at the site of a small gift box sitting on the coffee table.

  Caitlin beamed. She had been preparing this for the longest time. Now, finally, it was the perfect moment.

  “You really didn’t have to get me anything, mom,” Scarlet said. “That cake was more than enough.”

  That was Scarlet. Always so considerate. Always so selfless.

  “This is an important one,” Caitlin said. “Go ahead. Open it.” Scarlet took the small box and removed the delicate wrapping. As she did, it revealed an antique, mahogany jewelry box.

  Scarlet looked over at Caitlin in surprise. Clearly, she was stumped. She slowly opened it, and as she did, her eyes opened wide.

  “Oh my God,” she said, raising a hand to her mouth. “I can’t accept this. It looks so valuable. It looks, like, ancient!”

  Sitting there, against black velvet, was a small, silver necklace. An antique cross.

  Scarlet held it up, examining it, struck by its beauty.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “My grandmother gave it to me,” Caitlin said, “when I turned 16. And her grandmother gave it to her.”

  Caitlin took the necklace, went behind Scarlet and draped it around her neck, clasping it. She then came around and examined it, smiling.

  “It fits beautifully,” Caitlin said.

  Caitlin had stu
mbled across the necklace just the other day, in the attic, and knew Scarlet should have it. After all, she didn’t wear it herself anymore. It was so beautiful, and mysterious, with that strange inscription in Latin on the back.

  “I’ll never take it off. I love you mommy,” Scarlet said, hugging her.

  Over her shoulder, Caitlin felt Scarlet’s tears.

  Caitlin had no idea what she’d done to deserve such an amazing daughter.

  “I love you, too.”

  *

  Caitlin lay there, in bed, late at night, in the dark, tossing and turning. Caleb had been asleep for at least an hour, and she listened to the steady, measured sound of his breathing. She was always amazed at how well he slept.

  But not Caitlin. Most nights, she had a hard time falling asleep. She reached over her bedside table and turned the clock towards her: 12:30. She had laid down in bed over an hour ago, and still nothing.

  She lay on her back, resting her head on the pillow, staring at the ceiling fan, thinking. Her mind raced, and she couldn’t get it to quiet down. Tonight was worse than usual. She wondered if she was stirred up because it was such a big day, with Scarlet’s turning 16. She remembered when she, herself, turned 16, and she still felt in some ways like it was yesterday—to think of her daughter turning 16 was surreal. It was so weird to think of herself as a mom. In some ways, she really was still the same 16-year-old Caitlin.

  What bothered her most wasn’t what she remembered—rather, it was what she could not remember. It was like there was some hazy corner of her consciousness that she couldn’t quite get to come into focus, some deep part of her brain where things were murky. She willed herself to focus, to think back to the day when she herself turned 16, to remember everything that had happened that day, all the details—and was frustrated to find that she could not.

  Often, Caitlin tried to remember her upbringing, especially her early childhood, convinced that she must have some early memories of her father. Something. But she often drew a blank, or muted images, so vague and muddled that she didn’t know if they were actual memories or just her imagination, just something she had concocted over the years. It was like there was this huge black hole in her memory, this hidden part of her life that she just could not remember. And it bothered her to no end.

  Maybe she was just imagining there was something more. Sometimes, Caitlin found herself feeling like she was destined for greater things, a bigger life. Like she had some great destiny, some huge purpose or meaning in the world. Sometimes, she couldn’t help wondering if her life was meant to be so much bigger, if she had a secret mission waiting to be revealed.

  But that day had never come. As Caitlin pondered her life—a normal life, a life which seemed so much like everyone else’s—she didn’t actually see anything about her that was that special. It seemed like she was just destined to live a normal life, in a normal town. A part of her refused to accept that.

  Another part of her wondered if she was just going crazy. After all, what was wrong with a

  “normal” life anyway? Wasn’t having a normal life an achievement in its own right? Why did life have to be greater than normal? When Caitlin looked around and saw so many people with real problems, with broken marriages, with health problems—with real suffering—she realized that normal was OK. It was better than OK. She should be so grateful, she knew, just to have normalcy, just to have what she had. And she was grateful. She was not unhappy.

  It was just that sometimes, she wondered, if maybe, she was meant for something more.

  Thinking of that necklace, the one her grandmother had given her, had stirred her up. It brought flooding back memories of her—one of the few clear memories Caitlin still had. She remembered her, one of the few people she loved, on her eighth birthday, giving her a box of rare books; she remembered holding that box as if it were a treasure chest; she remembered all the times her mother had insisted on getting rid of that box, and all the times Caitlin had refused. She remembered one time, when she came home and discovered her mom had thrown it out—and bringing it back in and hiding it. She kept it hidden, under her bed, for years, determined her mom never find it again. And she never did.

  Years later, when Caitlin moved to the Hudson Valley, to this big old house, she had brought the box and had stored it in a far corner of her attic. A part of her had wanted to go through them all right away—but another part wasn’t ready to. She couldn’t explain why. There was something so personal about them; she felt she had to wait for exactly the right time to do it.

  Caitlin tossed and turned, thinking about those books, and after many hours, she didn’t know how many, she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

  *

  Caitlin stood in a sprawling cornfield, at sunset, the only person left in a vast and empty universe. There was a narrow path, between the cornstalks, and she walked down it, under a sky alight in a million shades of reds and pinks. She walked towards the horizon, knowing for some reason that was where she had to go.

  As she did, she saw a lone figure standing there, a man, his back to the sun. A silhouette.

  Somehow, deep down, she felt she knew him. She felt, maybe, it was her father.

  Caitlin ran, wanting to reach him, to see him.

  As she ran, the cornstalks changed to olive trees, their silver branches lit up beautifully in the last light of day. The terrain changed, too, to a mountain, and now she was running up. A chorus of church bells tolled all around her. She felt herself getting closer, and as she did, he grew larger. As she nearly reached him, she looked up and saw he was now mounted on a crucifix. She could still only see his silhouette, and the image terrified her.

  Caitlin ran even faster, wanting to free him, to help bring him down off the cross. She felt that if she could only reach him, everything would be okay.

  “Caitlin,” he said. “I am with you.”

  She was just beginning to see some of the details on his face, and knew that in another moment, she would see clearly who he was.

  Suddenly, a flock of bats swooped down from the sky, descending on her like a swarm. They covered her face and hair and eyes, and she swatted them frantically. But there were too many of them: they forced her down to her knees, to the ground, and covered her like ants. She screamed and screamed, but no one heard her.

  Caitlin sat upright in bed, breathing hard, sweating. She looked all around in the silence, momentarily forgetting where she was. Finally, she realized: it was a dream.

  It had been a terrifying dream, and her heart pounded. She didn’t understand it—none of it seemed to make any sense. It left her sad and scared at the same time.

  She jumped up out of bed and paced, too wound-up to go back to sleep. She looked over at the clock: 4:01. It was nowhere near daybreak, yet she was wide awake.

  She paced the room, trying to figure out what to do, and felt more restless than she could remember. She felt her dream was more than just a dream: it felt like a message, as if it demanded some sort of action. But what?

  She felt she had to do something. But it was 4 AM. Where could she go? What could she do?

  She had to throw her mind into something, like an old book, an intense puzzle. Something to engage her. And then, it struck her: the attic. Those books she’d been thinking about before bed.

  Her grandmother’s box. Those rare books. The greatest puzzle of all.

  Yes, that was exactly what she needed. It was the perfect place to go and get lost, and not bother anyone.

  Caitlin hurried out the room and down the hall. She grabbed a flashlight from a drawer and climbed the steep steps to the attic.

  As she reached the top, she pulled the cord on a single bare bulb, and it lit a portion of the room in stark shadows. She turned on her flashlight and surveyed the dark corners: the attic was absolutely jammed with stuff. They had been living here so many years, and had never bothered to empty it. It was airless and uninsulated, and Caitlin hugged her shoulders in her pajamas, feeling a chill.

&n
bsp; She could barely remember where she’d stored her grandmother’s boxes. She swung the flashlight and searched through from one corner of the attic to the other. She began to walk through it all slowly, going from box to box.

  Minutes passed. Just as she was starting to wonder if this was a futile endeavor, she saw it: a small stack of boxes in the corner. Her grandmother’s books.

  Caitlin moved some things out of the way—an old high-chair, a crib, an oversized toy horse—

  and managed to make her way to the stack.

  She opened the first box slowly, methodically, as she’d been trained to do, extracting the books one at a time. She organized them, and catalogued them, indexed them in her head. The professional Caitlin took over.

  There were dozens of books, and this was exactly the kind of project Caitlin needed. Already, she could feel her racing mind and heart start to slow.

  She sat there, cross-legged, taking her time as she picked through one book at a time. She sneezed more than once, the dust getting to her, but she was happy. She felt an instant connection to her grandmother as she went through each book, feeling each one, running her hands along the spine, feeling the binding, the old paper. She began to relax, as her nightmares became more distant.

  An hour passed in the blink of an eye, and by then, Caitlin had already finished going through most of the boxes. As she reached the final box, she went to open it, and was surprised to find it sealed more securely than the others. She pulled at the layers of duct tape, but they would just not give. She wondered why this box would be sealed so much more carefully than the others.

  She was annoyed. She got up from her comfortable position and began combing the attic for scissors, anything to help open it.

  In the far corner she stumbled upon an old sewing kit, and extracted a small pair of scissors.

  They were tiny, but looked like they would do the trick.

  She went back to the box and set to work on cutting the tape. It took her several minutes to cut through it with the dull scissors, but finally, she did. She tore the box open.