The Horologist Page 3

  The foursome slid backstage to congratulate Freddie. He hugged the boys and introduced himself to the girls, then informed them all that the he had received a hotel suite in town, and invited the boys to stay.

  The group ventured into the city that night, and ended up back in the suite listening to Freddie play the guitar. Everyone in the bunch clicked, and once again nothing was missing from life.

  When they finally stopped and picked up their heads, it was nearly sunrise, so the girls decided to stay in the hotel. Freddie took the master, the girls took the guest room, and the boys took the sofas. But when Oliver’s head hit the pillow, he couldn’t help but notice the overpowering quiet around him. It was dead silent. No footsteps anywhere; not even the tiniest sound could be heard. Oliver had never known such quiet.

  Something eerie was there, a cold energy coming from the other couch. Oliver turned over and looked at his friend.

  A sliver of moonlight slanted in through a gap in the living room curtain. Leo was still, but Oliver could feel that he was awake. He could feel the capillary trickle of uncertainty and apprehension dripping into Leo’s mind.

  What is wrong?

  THE MARES

  IT WAS LONG past sunrise when Oliver awoke. The balcony door was open, and the ocean breeze tapped the thin blinds against the pane. Oliver looked across the room to find Leo’s sofa vacant. The suite was quiet still, but now without that cold energy. Oliver tossed his blanket over the cushions and rose to inspect the suite.

  Oliver tiptoed to the guest room and set his ear against the girls’ door. He knocked quietly, then slid it open. Empty. Oliver then moved to the master. Empty. The suite was deserted.

  Oliver had a biting sense of disappointment until he found a clue. Sitting on the kitchen table was a fresh breakfast and a message on a notepad. It read: Beach.

  Oliver sat to eat just as a luminous butterfly floated in through the balcony door and hovered above the room. The butterfly had pink stripes stretching across its blue back. Oliver set down his fork and watched as the butterfly fluttered over him with a subtle affinity. He gaped with awe.

  The butterfly was there no more than a blink when, like a kite in the wind, it lofted up and floated back outside.

  Oliver stood and followed the manifestation out into the sun. But, by the time he made it to the balcony, all he found was the sight of morning commuters and the peaceful shoreline in the distance. The butterfly simply was not there.

  Oliver stepped back in, cheated, but relieved. He could assign no meaning to the sequence that just played out. The butterfly singed the margins of Oliver’s mind as the reverie turned back on itself. The sapphire phantom was unprovable, but the image of the butterfly lodged itself deep inside Oliver’s subconscious.

  Oliver sat in silence while he ate. When breakfast was over, he walked to the bathroom, plugged the sink, and doused his face with cold water. He stared into his glossy irises for a long time before he snapped back to.

  Downstairs, summer hit Oliver with a fresh wave of heat. The white strip of sand outside their hotel was thinly occupied on this weekday morning, so finding his group of sunbathers was far from a challenge.

  The girls! A billow of calmness came to Oliver as he remembered that he was on an adventure with his oldest friend, a new one, and two belles.

  Had he brought a camera, this image—his friends resting on towels beneath a thirsty sun—would have made a fine postcard. Oliver resumed his hike towards them.

  With his back to the water, Freddie lowered his sunglasses. “There he is!” The others turned and waved. Oliver took a seat on the foot of Isabella’s chaise and let his head fall back and rest on her stomach. She didn’t say anything, so he left it there with the whole day in sight.

  There was a stretch of comfortable moments where everyone just sat, looked at the waves crashing in the surf, and took it all in.

  Isabella then stood and made her way towards the tide. The surge reached her thighs, then it brushed her outstretched hands before she shut her mouth and dove in. Oliver watched her go, then snatched a towel and wandered down to shore.

  Isabella glowed as she tromped out, water glittering off her physique as she plucked the towel from Oliver’s hand and headed up.

  By the time their frames had reddened, Freddie picked up what was going on. “So, girls. What next?”

  Aisha looked at Isabella. “We’re around Barcelona for two weeks then off to Majorca Isle at the end of the month.”

  Freddie knew what to say. He was the kind of guy you didn’t have to explain things to. “Wonderful. I hear Majorca is perfect this time of year. Oliver, Leo, on our way in, didn’t you two mention that you were planning on going there?”

  The boys were taken aback by the forwardness, but also anxious to hear a response. They watched the girls, hoping they’d buy the story and that Freddie knew what he was doing.

  Isabella rolled over on her towel and flipped her sunglasses up. She spoke to the group but was addressing Oliver. “You guys should tag along . . . you know, for safety.” She seemed like she wanted to wink but at the last second held back.

  Oliver cleared his throat while thinking of a response, but Freddie took the reins. “Isabella, great idea. Unfortunately, my schedule takes me north from here, but I wish you four the best.”

  “Oh, too bad, Freddie.” Isabella paused for a moment as a thought ran through her head. She again looked at Oliver. “You know, my parents are in Italy for a while. We have a guest house you two could stay in.”

  Oliver glanced at Leo, looking for confirmation.

  “Perfect, Isabella.”

  While the girls went up to the hotel, Oliver and Leo thanked Freddie for everything he had done. “Thanks for it all, Freddie. It was nice to have known you, however briefly.”

  He came back with a handshake for each. “Listen, boys, keep in touch, you hear?” But when you take a rolling stone like Freddie, the boys knew they never would. And that was that, and it was perfectly all right.

  Oliver and Leo decided to get their own transportation, and rented a pair of Vespa scooters to snail through Barcelona during their stay.

  When the foursome arrived, Isabella’s house was not what Oliver expected. It sat above a dark-blue lake on a hill carpeted with orchards and green-ribbon fields.

  The house itself was a jewel of architectonics. In fact, calling the estate a house was a disservice to its designer, who happened to be Isabella’s stepfather—a renowned architect. Every piece of the structure, inside and out, was purposively crafted, including the garden of pink caper trees out back. However, something on the estate grounds flustered Oliver and kept him alert. There was a vague barrier reverberating across the property. Something defensive.

  The boys stayed in the guest house for two weeks. They took things slow and called home periodically, and their parents were relieved that the boys were not so far away.

  At month-end, the group loaded the Vespas onto a ferry and sailed to Majorca for the weekend. They swam in the clear water, toured the tropics, and enjoyed the festivities along the beach. The sugary-blue and chrome scooters were stopped on a street when Aisha took her arms off Leo. “Isabella, what about our summer tradition?”

  Isabella smiled. Apparently, this was a good idea.

  The rest of that day was driven by instinct. The two couples were riding horses along a rocky bluff when the girls peeped at each other. On cue, the brown mares parted ways, and the dates peeled off in opposite directions towards the water.

  Oliver and Isabella found rhythm trudging through the sand as the sea air fleeced their faces. When they reached an inlet, Isabella dismounted and walked along the beach to take in the final bands of sun. Oliver pulled a blanket from the saddle and followed. They lengthened out in true pacification as the red rays began to slip over the horizon.

  The fluidity of the whitecaps lulled the two as Isabella lifted handful after handful of sand, letting the elements pour through her fingers. Oliver looked at her
. His hand drifted to her cheek.

  The spirit of love fell anew as their hearts tuned into each other. His eyes caught hers. He could see everything in them. In this transcendent moment, his heart warmed and his mind raced. Isabella knew what was coming. It was just the way she dreamt it would be. They spread across the blanket, and they were one. In these coital moments, they were immortal. In these moments, everything in the world was right, and something deep inside them, unmeasured in spirit, soared unburdened for the first time.

  Through the corner of her eye, Isabella saw the scarlet ocean smooth out into a glassy tabletop. There were no waves; everything was still. Isabella took her lips off Oliver’s, and directed his gaze out into the wakeless water. “It’s just . . . I’ve never seen the ocean like this. It’s so peaceful.”

  After the sun went down, the sky became a velvet landscape with a waxing moon. The temperature dropped, but the sand around them stayed warm, like their presence was recharging earth’s core.

  They ended up lying there all night, talking and taking it all in. Oliver looked up at the curtain of blinking stars and whispered, “That’s the beauty of the night, Isabella, as dark as it may be sometimes, somewhere in the world, there is light.”

  She was absorbed in his words and drawn into him. She heard the voice of a boy who had dropped his guard.

  The two slept soundly, sharing the same dream.

  THE ARCHITECT

  SUNRAYS TOASTED OLIVER and Isabella awake. The sky was now more relaxed. It was blue and orange and pink and massively serene. Isabella rolled over and smiled at Oliver on the blanket. Her smile was all he’d ever need.

  They made their way back to their lodging and prepared to board the ferry to Barcelona. When they arrived, Oliver and Isabella found Leo alone in the common area, packed. He looked uneasy sitting down with his bag around his shoulders.

  Isabella stood to the side of Oliver. “What’d you do with Aisha?”

  “Tanning by the beach. That seems to be her thing.”

  Oliver sharpened his eyes at Leo’s tone. Isabella carved up a smile in case her gut was wrong. “Oh, okay . . . great. I’ll join her.”

  She left with visible diffidence.

  When the room was only male, Oliver pried. “How’d it go?”

  Leo stood. “This whole idea of adventure, I don’t think I’m up for it after all. When we get back to mainland, I’m heading home. You do what you want, and I hope you find what you’re looking for, but I’m out. I miss home.” Leo had evasive eyes. He said nothing more.

  Oliver couldn’t muster words to reason with his friend. All he managed to say was, “If you want, we can meet you downstairs after we pack up.”

  Leo nodded and left. The sound of the door shutting was as loud as a bomb.

  Oliver was stiff as he fell to the couch. He sat and stared at the rotating fan blade on the ceiling, trying to piece together what happened. Bitter stabs of reproach came as he felt the pendulum of his journey shift.

  When the girls returned and Aisha began to pack, Isabella whispered to Oliver, “I didn’t learn much, but I guess she and Leo don’t feel the way we do.”

  Oliver caught the vulnerability in these words. “It’s too bad they failed.” He held her hand. “But I’m glad we didn’t.”

  With everyone packed, they took the ferry home. The ride was uncomfortable. The boys stood outside and leaned against the railing while the girls took seats indoors. While Isabella comforted Aisha, she couldn’t help but replay an earlier conversation she had with Oliver.

  He had asked her, “How will you explain us to your parents?”

  And she had replied, “What do you think I should say?”

  “Just that you’ve met a handsome boy from Spain who is taking time to travel and seeing the world. Right?”

  “Well, I think that should work,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.

  Oliver had taken a stern tone. “Look, Isabella, there’s instinct with these things. We just have to go for it.”

  Isabella had nodded and hidden her concerns. She shied away from telling Oliver about her parents, and was surprised how secretive she had been with him. She trusted Oliver, but maybe not enough—not yet. Or maybe she was just hopeful that things would work out.

  Either way, that was the first time the young couple felt a snake of tension between them, and it was unsettling.

  When the ferry arrived and they were all ashore, Leo gave his goodbyes and turned towards home. Cut ties were forgotten, and time moved on. Not once did they revive their sundered bond. Leo was a memoir.

  A week later, Isabella popped up next to Oliver in her bed. The phone was buzzing. She leaned over and picked it up. Her face immediately went tense. The conversation was brief, and when she hung up, she leapt out from the covers.

  “Oliver! You need to get out of here. My parents are coming home early. I’m going to shower. Call Aisha and ask her to come help me clean up. Go to La Codina and get a room.” Isabella threw the phone to Oliver and jolted into the bathroom. She came out with a toothbrush moving in her mouth, speaking through the suds. “Get your stuff from the guest house. Call me from the hotel.”

  Oliver parked the Vespa in front of La Codina. He dropped his pack at the front desk and slid his identification and money across the marble. Keys came back.

  Isabella called shortly after. She and Aisha planned to be away from the house when her parents arrived, but they had to be back for lunch. Oliver was to come.

  As Oliver rounded the corner into the lobby, Isabella was whispering on a daybed. “He’s a good one, and good ones are supposed to meet the family. I think he’ll pass. Don’t you?”

  Isabella—seeing a pair of feet edging into the lobby—quickly clipped her dialogue. And when she saw Oliver’s face, her worries vanished. She felt a new wave of affection for him. If the bellhop had walked over and told her that she wouldn’t see Oliver after this, she wouldn’t have been able to bear it.

  But Oliver didn’t share her optimism. This was the first time he felt strange about meeting her parents. All in the lobby, the three anxiously looked at each other before Isabella said, “Here we go. Time for lunch.”

  Isabella’s mother was perfectly dressed as she primly glided down the curved staircase before opening the front door to retrieve the paper.

  It was clear where Isabella inherited her beauty; her mother was vital and ageless, and in her face were the memories of wonderful things. Her hair was dark and fell to the middle of her back, and her eyes were clear, like a wreath of starlight. Her physique was slim and weightless, yet she came across with the power of a falcon. At any moment she might take off in flight.

  Sofia was delighted to find her daughter prancing up the lowest lawn with Aisha. But who is the boy? When the group reached the last line of wind-twisted cypresses, Sofia called out with joy. “Isabella! I thought you’d be home when we got back. It’s so good to see you!”

  Sofia cheek-kissed Isabella, greeted Aisha, then turned to Oliver and allowed Isabella to introduce them.

  “Mother, this is Oliver. I’ve known him since we lived near Cantabria. He’s in town traveling and I happened to run into him. Aisha and I have been showing him around.”

  Oliver slightly bowed and gave a formal Spanish greeting, but he could tell his presence hit a nerve. Sofia warmed for a moment. “The world is full of surprises. Very nice to meet you, Oliver. Please, call me Sofia.”

  Oliver smiled, and decided he’d wait a decent interval before calling her by name.

  “Where’s Antonio, Mom?”

  Sofia directed the group’s attention down the lawn and out onto the water. “Doing the usual.” In the middle of the blue lake, a man dove off his sailboat into the water.

  Everyone then turned and entered the house.

  Oliver was careful to avoid any indication that he had been here before. They all made way to the sunroom for breakfast, where Sofia set the newspaper under the patriarch’s plate. She sat and looked at her daughter
. “Okay, Isabella. Tell me everything!”

  And Isabella did. And while she did, everyone ate. Isabella seamlessly told of the last few weeks while marshalling the message of romance. Sofia then highlighted their trip to Italy and spoke of how she envisioned getting a summer home there one day.

  As Sofia was finishing, Isabella’s stepfather, Antonio, came in. Antonio had hawk eyes and a bloodhound nose. He wore five-inch floral trunks, a half-buttoned linen shirt, and atop his rectangular head was a mane of black hair. Antonio had an athletic body gone soft, browned skin, and a salt-and-pepper beard. His light blue eyes glowed when he saw his stepdaughter.

  “Isabella!”

  As he embraced her he eyeballed the room. A scornful and dismissive look etched across Antonio’s face as he issued Oliver a subdued hello. Antonio wasn’t really looking for a response, so Oliver nodded back as sweat dripped down his spine. He had hoped that he and Antonio might agree on philosophy or politics or even pop culture, but he could sense that he and the architect were in no way similar people.

  Antonio took his chair and loaded his plate propped up by the paper. Sofia took her time to recite the stories which had just been given to her, and she did so with remarkable detail. The others aided her along with interlaced handfuls of polite nothings, and as they did, Oliver studied Antonio’s face. It told him nothing. The architect concealed his thoughts like a master of facial features; his disposition was like a palate of hardened mortar.

  Everything was fine until Sofia dropped in a theory that Isabella and Oliver were “together.” Hearing this, Antonio coughed on his drink as he tried not to choke on this kidney stone of information.

  Blood darkened his forehead, and suddenly, the newspaper was sizzling under his plate. Antonio burned with desire to pick it up and mull over the news. What difference would it make if I address it now or later? he thought. Antonio burned. He burned until the thought occurred that not lifting the news from under his plate might send him into cardiac arrest, so he did.